


Sounds Like Something That I Need To Feel

by writingonpostcards



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Phone Calls & Telephones, Phone Sex, Sex Work, Stanley Cup Playoffs, no past Kent/Jack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-01-31 11:36:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12681105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingonpostcards/pseuds/writingonpostcards
Summary: Jack has never let himself feel lonely. Even if he did admit to it, with his name and with how much of his life is hockey, he never thought he could do anything about it. That is, until Tater introduces him to an option he’d never previously considered.The fic where Jack calls a phone line for sex and ends up with something more than he’d expected.





	1. You Call Me On The Line

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the OMGCP Big Bang 2017. It features amazing art by the talented [Emily](https://kent-parsons-cowlick.tumblr.com/post/167449574415/just-a-taste-of-17piesinseptembers-big-bang-fic) (you have to hold out to chapter three to see it) and was beta'd by the ever-charming [Silvia](http://notenoughgatorade.tumblr.com/).

It's as Jack’s looking around for a place to sit that he realises—he’s one of the few on his team without a partner.

He couldn’t say why the revelation comes so strong now, only that he’s been pushing similar thoughts aside for a while now, and something about not being able to share the win that’s put the Falconers into cup playoffs has made him more susceptible to errant thoughts regarding his emotions.

He can’t bring himself to sit next to any of the couples so he makes his way over to Tater, who though alone looks like he’s having the time of his life—as Jack should be.

“Hey.” He greets Tater with a nod and receives a hug that’s more of a tackle in return.

“Zimboni! You join at last. Is wonderful night tonight.” Tater downs half a beer at once and waves at some of the younger players on the team who have congregated together in solidarity across the other side of the bar.

Jack takes a more measured sip of his own drink. His stomach feels uneasy and he spends too long with his gaze on Risso and his new girlfriend.

“Jack. Jack. Jack.”

He shakes his head to break his gaze. “Sorry.”

“You are feeling alright? We win. Is good thing.”

“Yeah, thinking about something else.”

Tater, regardless of being drunk, pulls a face Jack knows well. “You speak to me about what bothers you, I think. I will help.”

Jack feels off-kilter enough not to keep his emotions to himself. He takes another drink.

“Just thinking about… not having someone,” Jack says with the eloquence of someone who hasn’t had the time to play out this conversation in his head.

“You have team.”

“No like.” Jack gives up on words and gestures to Risso and his girlfriend, then the table where Thirdy and Marty are sharing plates of chips with their wives.

“Oh. _That_ kind of someone.” Tater nods sagely. “You want to find someone?”

Jack runs a hand through his hair as he thinks about it. “It’s complicated.”

“They don’t think so,” Tater says, nodding over at the older guys.

Jack sighs.

“Is this about anxiety?”

“Maybe a little.” Perhaps that’s what the strange feeling in his stomach is—his body already realising the pitfalls that could befall him should he try to meet someone. “I don’t want to end up in some magazine with my relationship on the cover. What if someone uses me for money? Or five minutes of fame?”

Tater cuts Jack off before he can pick up much steam. He’s grateful for the interruption, and drinks more to give his mouth something else to do.

“If worry about thing like that, there are other ways to meet.”

Jack is still drinking, so he raises his eyebrows at Tater.

“Like, on internet.”

Jack stops drinking to shake his head vehemently at Tater.

“Okay. Letter writing, what is—Pen-pals?”

“I don’t want anyone having my address.”

Tater frowns, seemingly just as stumped as Jack. Jack regrets for a moment telling Tater. From a few minutes conversation it’s clear Jack isn’t in a place where a relationship is feasible. He should put the whole issue aside and focus on the playoffs. That’s what he’s done every other year.

“Wait!” Tater yells suddenly, standing up and drawing the attention of a few nearby teammates. Thankfully, none of them seem inclined to listen in as what Tater says next is not something Jack would want eavesdroppers for.

“Sex phone line. Totally anonymous, I can vouch.” The enthusiasm with which Tater says it is enough that Jack doesn’t immediately shoot the idea down. “You can use fake name, and they do not see your face. Is perfect!”

“I’m looking for a relationship, not a... a one-night stand.”

“Jack,” Tater says, sitting down finally and putting a hand on Jack’s shoulder, leaning in close. “From what you tell me, relationship is too big for you now. Too much hockey, too much worry. But, but,” Tater leans in even closer, “this could be thing that you need.”

“I’m really not sure—”

“I’m sure. This will be good for you.” He says is with such conviction that Jack almost believes him.

“How?” he asks warily.

“Get you used to talk to someone you never met. You won’t be Jack the hockey player, just Jack the man, yes? I write number down for you.”

“You know the number off by heart?”

“Course. Used to call it often. Easier when travel than finding someone in a bar.” Tater talks about it so frankly that the notion loses an edge of taboo for Jack. “Besides. Not always sex. You can just chat.”

Jack can’t say he’s convinced, but the idea lodges itself in his brain, sitting uncomfortably for the moment, but definitely there. He watches Tater write the number on a napkin. He’s pretty sure it’s destined for the bin when he gets back to the hotel, but for now he folds it up so the writing is hidden and slips it into his wallet.

-

Jack has never felt that anything has been missing from his life. With his upbringing in a family that was well-off and offered him support to pursue the career he loved, he’s been aware of his privilege from an early age. His revelation from last night combined with Tater’s words have caused a shift in him. What used to be a sporadic thought is now a feeling embedded into his skin.

Back at home after the away-game, he shares the lift with his next-door neighbours—a happily married couple expecting their first child—and feels for the first time something uncomfortable in his gut that they have that and he doesn’t. On his morning jog, he passes couples out for coffee together, kids flirting at bus-stops, older couples with dogs. Nothing around him has changed but he’s seeing it differently.

The unpleasant feeling, the little frown whenever his teammates talk about their partners, simmers continuously, and more and more Jack is thinking of the phone number Tater gave him. He’s kept too busy to act on it with increasingly voracious practise sessions now they’re in the running for the cup. For a week he falls into bed worn out and exhausted not only from the physical but also the emotional exhaustion of being so _aware_ all day.

The napkin never does make it to the bin because little by little Jack’s curiosity builds. He can’t help but think about what it would be like. It’s not always unpleasant to fantasise about. He gets closer to calling, but manages to find an excuse every time to hold himself back, despite the continual unpleasant feeling in his gut—loneliness.

-

They play the Aces. They beat the Aces (twice). Before heading back for the home games, Jack goes out with Kent, something they’ve been doing since Jack’s first year in the NHL. They’ve never gotten as close as they had been in the Q, but you can’t shake a connection as intimate as the one they had. Jack’s been looking forward to a night’s distraction from lying in bed thinking about being alone.

It works for a while. Sitting with Kent at a table in the back corner of the bar makes Jack feel younger. Kent is someone he doesn’t bother to pretend around. They know too much of the other’s secrets to bother with antagonism.

“My treat,” Kent says sarcastically. “I fucking hate this ‘loser buys drinks’ rule.”

Jack laughs. “You only hate it because you always lose.”

“Not always.”

“Most times.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Kent flaps his arm in a dismissive fashion, managing to down a sizeable portion of beer at the same time. “So, tell me. What’s changed in the last, what, three months?”

Jack sighs and takes a sip of his own drink to buy some time. The truth is, nothing really has.

“Not much,” he has to tell Kent eventually, who’s looking at Jack with the same bright focus he always wears.

“I’m sure that’s not true. Come on, tell me about… the last book you read.”

Jack quirks an eyebrow at Kent. “Well. It was an autobiography from a worker on the—”

“Wait, no.” Kent throws his hand up between them. “Changed my mind. Don’t want to hear about it.”

Jack shakes his head at the typical response. “What about you then. What’s changed with you?”

“Ah well…” Kent takes his cap off to run his fingers through his eternally mussed hair. He picks up his drink afterward and finishes the rest of his beer. “Alright, I didn’t plan on saying this but I… I don’t know, I’m kinda feeling it. I met someone.”

Jack blinks, unable to gather the enthusiastic or supportive response Kent’s probably expecting.

“Jack?” Kent asks. “You good?”

“Oh, yes. Sorry. Congrats.”

Kent smiles dopily. “Thanks, man. It’s early days but I’ve got this _feeling_ , you know?”

“I don’t,” Jack says with simple honesty.

So much for a night away from his thoughts. Not even here is Jack safe from the crippling reminder of his own seemingly eternal solitude. He realises he’s slipped into his head when Kent has to nudge his leg beneath the table to grab his attention.

“Something going on?”

“No. Just—” Jack sighs out, debating whether he wants to tell Kent about the thoughts and the dissatisfaction that have been with him for the past few weeks.

Kent stands up from the table. “I’m going to grab more drinks, yeah? When I’m back either tell me or we’ll move on. I’ve got a story about Travers I think you’ll get a kick out of.”

Jack nods gratefully and tries to pass Kent a twenty which he bats away.

He looks around the bar while Kent orders. There are at least four couples in the place, possibly six but Jack’s never been the best at reading physicality off the ice. The two guys trading kisses slowly across the bar are evidently together though. Jack watches and aches for that kind of connection until the longing in his stomach twists uncomfortably and he has to turn away.

He probably shouldn’t tell Kent. He doesn’t want to take away from the joy he’s found in his new relationship, whoever it may be with. But still, it’s not like the pool of people he _can_ tell with total honesty is that big. He’s out, but he’s not out-out, and if he wants to do that on his own steam that further restricts the pool of people he can vent to. Venting might be what he needs. His parents have often said to him that keeping his emotions in check is different to bottling them up, and while they may agree that it’s something useful for dissuading media hounding, on a personal level they’re always encouraging Jack to open up.

“Sorry that took so long.” Kent puts down four beers on the table between them. “Yeah, I was watching you from over there,” Kent says when he notices Jack eyeing the alcohol. Kent knows he isn’t a big drinker. “Looked like you’d made your decision and I thought this might help with whatever it is. You know I got your back with this. Alcohol’s just there if you need it.”

Jack nods. “Thanks,” he says, finishing his first off finally and pulling another toward him.

Kent’s barely in his seat when Jack blurts, possibly inelegantly, “I think I’m lonely.”

Kent pauses, then finishes lowering himself into his seat. “What makes you say that?” He takes his cap off and puts it on the table between them.

Jack shrugs, wrapping his hands around the cold glass and watching the foam on top sway as he tilts it gently side to side.

“Did someone say something? Did you watch something? See someone you used to date?” Kent lists off in a semi-helpful manner. “I heard Larson’s engaged now. Was that it?”

Jack shrugs again. “I don’t think it was anything specific. I’ve been... I’ve thought it before,” Jack admits, “but it’s never stuck around like it’s—I’m not sure—part of _me_ now.”

Kent grimaces. “Sounds… unpleasant.”

Jack laughs without humour. “Yeah. Not really what I want to have on my mind during cup season.”

Kent nods slowly. “Well, without going into whatever’s caused your new view on life, there is a simple fix.”

“What?”

“Find someone,” Kent says like it’s obvious and easy. “Date someone. Not even with permanency in mind if you don’t want, just…”

He trails off at the look Jack gives him. “That’s not really my style.”

“Ah alright. What about… dating apps?”

Jack shakes his head. “Don’t want online stuff. Too much risk.”

“Pen-pals then, snail-mail style,” Kent suggests.

“No.” Jack shakes his head. Kent’s words remind him so much of Tater’s from that night. “I want…”

The same couple he was watching earlier catches his eye as he turns his gaze from Kent. They’re still kissing.

“Huh.” Jack blinks, looking back at Kent’s exclamation.

“You want something more physical?” Kent asks, eyebrows raised.

Jacks sighs and takes a large drink of beer.

“I don’t fucking know. Guess so,” he mumbles in confirmation. Then—because he seems to be all in on this venting to Kent—Jack pulls out the napkin Tater scrawled on and passes it to Kent. “Tater gave me this.”

Jack expects to have to muddle his way through explaining what it is, but Kent takes one look at it and starts laughing. “No fucking way!”

“What? What is it?”

“I’ve used this number. Wow, who would’ve thought I had anything in common with _Mashkov_?” Kent passes the note back to Jack.

“You’ve called this?” Jack asks.

“Hell yeah. For a good while, actually. They’re good.” Kent leans back in his seat, looking fond. The look on his face is doing more to persuade Jack to try the number than Tater’s enthusiastic drunken ramblings.

“Did you, you know,” Jack half-asks, nodding over to the guys still kissing in the corner.

Kent nods. “Girls too.”

“And it isn’t… weird?”

“Nah, not at all. People have phone sex all the time. You know there might even be higher instances of it in our career with all the travel.”

“But with real-life partners, not random people.”

“They’re real people, Jack. It’s not some imitation.”

Jack takes a long drink. “It still seems very high risk.”

“High reward too,” Kent says with a wink. “You worried about privacy?” he asks more seriously after starting on his third beer of the night.

“You know me.”

“So, yes then. Look,” Kent leans in across the table again and takes up the serious tone he reserves for once in a blue moon and away from cameras. “If privacy is the only thing holding you back, then go for it. Seriously. Highest discretion, I promise. They keep everything confidential for the workers’ safety as much as yours.”

Jack hadn’t thought about it that way before.

“See, you’re coming around more, I can tell.” Kent pokes Jack in the forehead and Jack brushes his hand away. “And Jack, you’ll be in control.”

“How do you mean?” Jack asks, curiosity piqued.

“I mean, it’s on you what information you give out.” Kent’s still using his serious tone. “You can choose what kind of things you do or don’t do. Use a fake name. Fudge your age, occupation or hell, you don’t even need to bring that stuff up at all.”

Jack nods slowly, letting Kent’s words sink in until he’s almost convinced to call.

-

Jack leaves the bar with one thing on his mind; the phone number. It feels like it’s vibrating in his wallet, buzzing against his skin. As soon as he’s in the hotel room he’s staying in he takes out the wallet, retrieves the napkin, and falls into the closest lounge chair.

The numbers dance on the paper and Jack isn’t sure whether it’s because he ended up drinking the three beers, or because somewhere in his gut he knows he’s going to be calling it soon.

Jack’s conversation with Kent has, while not totally relieved his inhibitions on the subject, made it so that he thinks it would be worth it, even just once, to see whether it’s even anything he should pursue to relieve that twist in his gut he carries with him now. It’s barely more than a week but he’s already fed up with being so distracted.

He dials the number still sitting in the lounge seat, closing his eyes and breathing out slowly as he waits for the phone to connect. It rings only twice before it’s answered, and an automated voice asks him to select whether he’s a new or returning client. He presses 1 for new and the phone rings again longer this time before being answered by a chipper sounding woman.

“Hello, welcome to our phone line. Just to confirm, this is your first time with us?”

Jack is momentarily thrown by having to talk to a real-life person. “Uh, yes. Yeah, that’s right.”

Jack finds his palms sweaty and he rubs them on his jeans.

“Well, welcome. Thanks for choosing us. As it’s your first time, we just need to grab some basic details from you.”

“Details?” Jack asks, wary at having to give his name.

“For payment,” the woman says.

“Oh, right.”

They go through Jack’s credit card details and the woman repeats the same sentiment to Jack that Kent told him earlier that night. “These details are confidential. We don’t sell this information to any outside companies and none of our staff will ever be given any of this information.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh, no need to thank us. We want our clients to be as comfortable as possible with our service, and for most that means anonymity. Of course, if you’d like to give your real name to the person we put you through with, that’s your choice entirely.”

“Right, okay,” Jack says, knowing full well that he won’t be giving his real name.

“Who were you hoping to speak to tonight?”

“Ah… a man?” Jack says hesitantly, not sure how much specificity he’s meant to give.

“Okay, great. Let me just check… Oh, perfect. I’m going to patch you through to Bitty. He’s really good with first-timers.”

Jack nods, throat dry.

“Have fun,” the woman says cheerfully before Jack is redirected again.

Jack’s heart rate spikes as the dial tone starts up. Should he have stripped off before calling? Should he be in bed? What name is he going to use? He stands up, ready to take action when his brain catches-up and provides him with answers, but before it can the dial tone is cutting out and someone is talking.

“Hi there. I’m Bitty. How’re you doing?”

The voice is surprisingly conversational and warm, not at all like the horrible porn-y voices Jack had been imagining it might have been.

Jack, still standing helpless in the middle of the room, clears his throat before replying with an eloquent, “Uh, hi Bitty. I’m alright.”

“Just alright?” Bitty asks teasingly. “Well, hopefully I can help improve on that.”

It’s flirty, but not overly suggestive, actually almost friendly. Jack relaxes slightly.

“I… hope so too,” Jack settles on replying, sitting down on the edge of his bed and kicking his shoes off so he doesn’t have to bother with them later.

“Good,” Bitty tells him. “I’ve been told this is your first time?”

“Yeah.”

“Mmm. I better make it good then, so you’ll come back.” Again, it’s not as suggestive as Jack had imagined, and it helps settle the nerves that sprung up with his dry throat.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, honey.”

“Honey?” Jack asks before considering it might be rude. The laugh down the phone line thankfully tells him otherwise.

“Well sure, _honey_.” The stress on it does something to Jack, and his stomach flips over. “You haven’t given me a name. I can work with that though, if you don’t wanna.”

“I,” Jack breathes deeply. “I like it. The—the ‘honey’ thing.”

“Good,” Bitty says, and actually sounds pleased by it.

“But, you can… call me Laurent.”

“Laurent,” Bitty repeats breathily. “Is that the French pronunciation?”

Jack nods his agreement, forgetting Bitty can’t see him. “Yes, yes,” he quickly covers.

“Mmm, I like that. You may have to speak French for me at some point.”

Jack swallows. It’s the most suggestive Bitty has sounded all night. He likes it. “Next time, maybe,” Jack says, too nervous.

“Next time?” Bitty laughs again. It’s a little throaty. “We haven’t even done anything yet, Laurent.”

“Oh, sorry,” Jack says following his assumption.

Bitty laughs again. “Perfectly all right. This is _your_ time. We can do with it _whatever_ you like.”

“Whatever I…” Jack frowns. “I thought this was a… For sex?”

“If you want it to be, of course we can have sex. But sometimes people just want to talk.”

Jack’s thrown. “What do you want?”

“Nuh-uh,” Bitty says, “it’s about _you_ tonight. Whatever _you_ like.”

Jack swallows and doesn’t have to think very hard on it. “Well I was—I had assumed we’d—"

“Have sex?” Bitty finishes for Jack.

“Yeah.”

“Brilliant, Laurent. Why don’t you start by telling me what you’re wearing?”

Jack looks down at himself. “Dark jeans. A button-up shirt.”

Bitty hums down the line. “Sounds nice. Very smart.” The way he says smart makes it sound like he’s implying something else.

“What about you?”

“Oh, well, I,” Bitty chuckles lowly. “’Fraid I ain’t as dressed up as you. I’m just in some yoga pants.”

Jack swallows. “I don’t mind.”

“No, don’t ‘suppose you would. I gotta say though, I think you’ll be more comfortable out of those jeans. Whadya think?”

Jack’s fumbling one-handed with the zip before Bitty’s finished the sentence. It’s a relief to get less pressure on his dick, and he’s surprised to see how hard he is from just a little back and forth with Bitty.

“Better?”

“Much,” Jack says, settling back properly onto the bed, leaning against the headrest.

“If I were there, I’d be unbuttoning that shirt for you, slowly, one by one. Kissing all the way down your chest. Would you like that?”

Jack nods, then reminds himself it’s a phone call, and sputters out, “Yeah”, fumbling to undo his shirt one-handed while Bitty talks.

“Now you don’t gotta return the favour but I like to picture what we’re talking about in my head. So, in case it helps you… I’m blond, 5’7”, lean but muscled, brown eyes.”

Jack closes his eyes and tries to picture Bitty the way he’s describing himself. “You sound… like my type.”

“What a coincidence for you.”

“I’m brown haired. Blue eyes. Taller than you. 6’1”. Muscled, I guess.”

“Lord, you could pick me up no problem. You think you could fuck me against a wall?”

Jack’s reaction surprises him. A shiver runs through him and he makes a choked noise.

“Sounds like you like that,” Bitty comments. “God, Laurent.”

Jack wraps his hand around his dick, moving slowly, sighing with how good it feels, listening to Bitty walk him through it.

“That’d be so fucking amazing.” Bitty’s voice has gone husky, laboured with exertion or feeling. Jack wonders if he’s touching himself too. “You pounding into me at that angle would get me all hot and bothered pretty quickly.”

“Shit,” Jack hisses out, starting to move his hand faster. He’s been so stuck in his head worrying about doing this, he can’t remember the last time he masturbated. It’s all catching up to him, libido through the roof and stamina in absolute shatters.

“Are you touching yourself, honey?” Jack moans again at the term of endearment.

“Yes. Fuck. Are-Are you?” He suddenly has to know.

“Yes. Laurent, fuck.”

Jack smiles, picturing it, and starts thrusting into his hand. “I’m close.”

“Good. I can’t tell whether you’re loud or not yet, but I’m excited to find out. You sound so amazing panting like that for me, so amazing. I’d love to bite into your chest so I could feel your heart beating. Mine’s racing so fast, Laurent. So fast for you, and I—"

Jack comes without warning. Quickly on a drawn-out groan, back arching so much it’s almost painful. He works himself through it and then slumps down into the mattress, sated and spent.

Bitty’s stopped talking and Jack doesn’t have the energy to put together a sentence right now. He sits there listening to Bitty breathing on the other end, and realises he hadn’t heard anything over his own orgasm.

“Did you…” Jack peters off.

“Oh, honey” Bitty laughs throatily. “Did I ever.”

“Good.”

Bitty hums. “I’d say so.”

-

The days after the phone call are eerily similar to those before Jack called—he spends a lot of time thinking about calling the phone line. This time though, it’s with a sense of excitement and he’s well aware that it’s not based just on the fact that he hasn’t felt the twisted feeling in his gut for days.

Jack is interested in Bitty.

Bitty was fun and nice and good. He’d stayed on the phone after they’d has sex and talked to Jack without bringing up hockey and without treating him like someone different. It wasn’t a long talk but Jack liked it. Jack would have called back the next night but it takes a few days before he has the uninterrupted time to do so. He asks for Bitty and thanks his lucky stars when he’s told Bitty is free.

“Hey there, Laurent.”

“Hi Bitty,” Jack says happily, already stretched out in bed at home and wearing only his briefs.

“Someone sounds cheerful. Good day?”

“It was fine.” The Falconers won their fourth game in a row, moving them into the second round of playoffs. “More happy to be talking to you.”

“My my my, a compliment straight off the bat. You wouldn’t be angling for something, would you?”

“I might be,” Jack says with a grin, slipping just the tips of his fingers beneath his briefs in a tease.

“Care to fill me in? Can’t have you doing all the work.”

“I want to fuck you.”

Bitty laughs, but it’s more sensual than humorous, a vibration Jack would love to be able to feel. “You’re surprising me with the blunt talk. Where’s the shy boy from the other night?

“Shy _man_ ,” Jack corrects.

“We’ll see.”

“And the shy man’s been thinking about it for days and doesn’t want to wait much longer.”

“Alright. Good thing I’ve already got two fingers inside me.”

Jack’s dick twitches at that and he whimpers obviously.

“That’s right,” Bitty encourages, and Jack can hear his voice has a breathy tone to it. “Is two fingers enough? How desperate are you?”

Jack pushes his briefs down his thighs out the way and wraps a hand finally around himself. “Add another,” he demands.

He doesn’t think he imagines the sound of a cap being opened and he thrills to know that Bitty isn’t faking.

“Guess you are a man,” Bitty pants. “Come on then. I’m ready. What’re you going to do, hun.”

Jack closes his eyes, breathing harshly, conjuring up an image of Bitty in his head.

“I want you on your back so I can see you, and your legs over my shoulders.”

“Fuck, Laurent.” Bitty’s breathing is harsh down the line.

Jack tightens his grip as he continues to talk through his imagination. “I push in slow.”

“I can handle it fast—“ Bitty interrupts.

“This is _my_ fantasy. I’m going slow, so I can watch everything play out on you face.”

Bitty groans. “God you’re a menace.”

“A menace who’ll fuck you slow until you’re _writhing_ ,” Jack whispers, describing the scene he’s been fantasising for days now.

“Laurent,” Bitty whimpers, and Jack loves it, loves the sound and loves how much he’s enjoying himself.

“You close?”

“Fuck yes.”

“Good, me too.”

“Will you go faster then?”

“Yes. Yes. As hard as you want until you’re coming around me.”

After they both come, Jack stays on the line, breathing heavily. He’s worn out and can’t even bother reaching to the bedside table for his tissues.

“That was great.”

“Don’t thank me,” Bitty says. “You drove that one.”

Jack smiles and wishes Bitty were beside him. It’s a foolish hope and he lets go of it quickly.

“I haven’t had that much fun doing this in ages,” Bitty says seemingly out of the blue.

“Really?”

“Oh, for sure. I mean, I definitely should not be saying so, but I fake it a _lot_ of the time—the coming, the conversation. Not everyone’s as…” Bitty stops himself with a sigh. “Well, you’re one of the good ones.”

Jack’s relieved to hear Bitty genuinely enjoys himself with him. Of course, that could always be an intricate lie, but Jack finds it hard to believe as blissed out as he is right now.

“Tell me about your worst one.”

“Laurent, you can’t ask me that!” Bitty sounds shocked but Jack’s willing to wager it’s a pretence.

“You brought it up.”

“Yeah, I did.” Bitty pauses and Jack takes the moment to knock the tissue box off his bed-side table and onto the bed where he can reach it easier. He gives himself a cursory clean while he waits for Bitty to think of his answer, which comes as he’s throwing the tissues in the direction of the bin.

“Well it’s not anyone in particular, but sometimes, people just call and give me nothing. I gotta pull them through kicking and screaming. ‘Cept the kicking and screaming is just me internally and for them it’s like all they do is moan and come in less than a minute.”

“That sounds horrible.”

Bitty laughs. “Yeah, not great. I worry they’re wasting their money. And I feel a little useless those times, truth be told.”

“You’re not useless.” Jack barely knows Bitty but the sentiment sits wrong with him.

“Thanks, honey. I do know that.”

“Good.”

Jack doesn’t know how to keep their conversation moving. It’s never been a strong suit for him. He knows though that if he doesn’t say something, Bitty is going to have to hang up and move on to another client (Is that right? Is that how these things work? Jack’s naïve to it all.)

“Do you do that texting thing?” Jack asks eloquently, remembering something the receptionist had told him in her introductory talk. He covers his face with his hand and reminds himself not to groan in embarrassment.

“Sure do,” Bitty responds cheerily, and Jack lets out a relieved breath. “Did you want to sign up for it?”

“Yes, maybe. How does it work?”

“Well, it’s basically just texting like you would with anyone, maybe some sexting thrown in too if that’s something you’re interested in.”

Jack chews on his lip. “Doesn’t sound too hard.” He does mean that. Texting isn’t natural for him, but if Bitty’s on the other end and he leads it like he did that first conversation, Jack’s sure he’ll have no problems following.

Bitty laughs. “Good. It ain't meant to be. I should say upfront though that it’s not a 24/7 access thing.”

“Of course not,” Jack agrees quickly. He couldn’t commit to that anyway, not during cup playoffs.

“I’m still in college,” Bitty tells him breezily. Jack locks onto the sliver of personal information with fascination. “So I’ve got classes, and tests and all that. But you text me and I’ll get back to you when I can.”

“Sounds good.” Jack’s already guessing what Bitty will be like as a texter. Will he use emojis? Send massive paragraphs, or several texts each one sentence long?

“I’m looking forward to texting with you, Laurent. Get the receptionist to set it up for you next time you call.”

“Alright. I’m looking forward to it too.” Whatever the additional fee is—he can’t remember the exact number—it’ll be worth it to fold Bitty into his life that little bit more.

-

The texting is easy to set up. Bitty’s phone number gives nothing away, and he lets Jack know it’s a work phone anyway, not his private one. Jack takes it in his stride, fully understanding the need. If Bitty can find ways to achieve a work/private life split like Jack sometimes struggles to, there’s no way Jack’s going to take offense at it.

The first text comes from Bitty, a simple, _Hi Laurent. It’s Bitty,_ followed by _How’re you doing today?_ and then a series of smiling emojis. Jack’s heart did a little somersault to see them all lined up there. Though he normally takes a few minutes to compose reply texts, with Bitty it just feels natural to type and hit send— _Hi Bitty. I’m great. How are you?_ —giving him a view to an unfiltered Jack that many others never see.

Bitty is as chatty over text as he is over the phone. Jack need only ask him one question and suddenly his inbox is filled with dozens of texts. Bitty had asked him at one point whether it was too much, but once Jack confessed he liked getting them Bitty powered on full steam ahead. Jack’s a lot more aware of his phone than he thinks he’s ever been in his life. It’s in his pocket or in his line-of-sight at all times. He plugs it in to charge first thing when he gets home and he double checks his phone plan right at the start to make sure he’ll always be able to text Bitty.

It feels nice reading the anecdotes Bitty sends him, and Jack finds he enjoys sending his own unprompted texts. At first, just _hello’s_ and _how was your day’s_ , but then he’s sending Bitty his own stories, mostly things from years ago, or about what he’s watching or reading. He’s still aware, constantly, of keeping his full identity hidden. As much as he does trust Bitty—hard not to when you’ve heard someone willingly tell you embarrassing high school stories—he can’t ignore the reasonable arguments his brain presents him with about privacy and confidentiality.

If he’d managed to find any time to call the phone line again, he’d get the same reminder from the autoprompt. He hasn’t though. Practices and games and travelling back and forth keep Jack so busy that he’s grateful he managed to sign up for the texting when he did or else it would be nearly three weeks before he heard anything from Bitty at all.

“Crisse, it’s good to hear your voice,” Jack sighs out back home after second round of playoffs is over, already flopped on his back in bed.

Bitty laughs, and it’s much smoother than Jack remembered it. “You too, honey.”

The pet names have not gone away with the texting either, in fact, they’ve probably gotten a higher usage. Jack thought it was a southern thing—he’d placed Bitty’s accent their first call—but he’s starting to think it might just be a Bitty thing.

The texting has helped Jack’s conversation greatly, and with a more solid relationship foundation his confidence at opening up about his fantasies has grown too. He and Bitty go through a scene that’s been playing in his mind through the away-game stretch. Jack comes easily and feels satisfyingly boneless as he and Bitty stay on the line after, talking about their days.

Jack hangs up and shoves his face into his pillow, quite literally trying to squish the smile off his face so his cheeks will stop hurting. It’s no use and he falls asleep dreaming of someone lying behind him with their arms wrapped around his middle.

-

Jack can’t remember his dreams, and maybe that’s a good thing, because he wakes up the next morning with something like a stone in his stomach.

He’s got it bad for Bitty. Way too bad.

He knows he’s liked Bitty for a while now—basically since their first phone call—but he’s never considered it in a bad light before. Waking up this morning though, Jack looks to his clock, sees he slept through his first alarm, and automatically his brain falls into a crack where the world looks a little more against him.

He shouldn’t have feelings this strong for someone who works on a sex phone line. What if it got out? That’s Jack’s first thought, but that’s just self-preservation, shifting blame to an external source. He gets out of bed and starts getting ready for a morning run. What’s really going on is that he’s formed a frighteningly strong bond with someone he’s never met and… that’s worrying to him.

He keeps to himself the entire morning, half-heartedly greeting teammates and avoiding spotting anyone doing weights.

“You good?” Tater asks, running beside Jack on a treadmill.

Jack nods and grabs the hem of his shirt to wipe sweat off his forehead and hide his face in case it betrays him. Tater leaves him alone after that, but Jack can tell he’s worried. It’s what makes him pull Tater aside in the parking lot after practise.

“You about to tell me what is trouble in your head?” Tater whispers.

“Yeah, I-“ There’s really no good place to start. “I called that number you gave me. The… the phone line?”

Tater’s eyebrows shoot up and he does a comical look-around before leaning down slightly to Jack. “Is good, no?”

“Yeah. Which is my problem, actually.”

“How is that problem?”

“I, well,” Jack sighs and does his own check to make sure no-one is near them. He waits until Marty and Thirdy get into their cars before continuing. “I guess I met someone. I really like him.”

“That is point, though,” Tater points out. “They make you feel good and you like them.”

“Not in this way.”

“What way is that?”

“It’s like I…” Jack struggles for the word, almost wishing he could text Bitty to ask for a good way to say it, but that would be counterproductive. “It’s like I have a crush,” Jack explains, then winces and how he’s just de-aged himself back to high school.

“Ahh,” Tater draws out.

Now that the hard part is out of the way, Jack doesn’t have any problems venting to Tater. He realises that really, he’s one of only two people Jack _could_ talk to about this—the other being Kent who’s got his own new relationship to be worrying about. No wonder Jack’s been chewed up about it all.

“We text most days and it hit me this morning that I really like him. But this is his _job_ , I shouldn’t feel this…” Jack struggles to find a word that will encompasses how he feels. “This _much_ of a connection to him. It’s never going to work.”

Tater nods slowly and then leans back against his car. “You want advice?”

“Oh, uh, I wasn’t—I think I just needed to tell someone.”

“But you sound very—what is word—concern that you like this person.”

“Bitty. That’s their—well, it’s what he told me to call him.” It almost sounds even more pathetic when Jack says that particular truth out loud. How can he be so into someone whose real name he doesn’t know?

“First,” Tater holds up a finger. “I do not think liking Bitty is bad thing, even if like him very strongly. Secondly,” he adds another finger, “if worry is that you care _too_ much, maybe you can take break. Stop calling, or stop texting. Or call someone else, maybe see whether you like different person as much. If yes, then you just feel that way about phone line, not Bitty. If you don’t like different person, then maybe it is true, and you like Bitty in real way.”

It’s felt pretty real to Jack so far, but maybe it is time to step back, to clear his head a bit so he can figure out whether he likes Bitty or is conflating having someone new and outside of hockey to talk to. With his emotional awareness, he could be projecting. He should figure out whether he is. If not, then he can decide what to do about his feelings.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Jack tells Tater, feeling more settled now that he has a game plan.

Tater claps Jack roughly on the shoulder and grins. “Always have advice if you need it.”

Jack thanks Tater, promising to buy him a drink the next time they’re out together, before heading to his car and driving home, formulating a plan of action.

-

It’s not exactly a plan that Jack comes up with, but that night he calls the phone line and asks to talk to someone new. He chews his lip as he waits for the call to connect and takes stock of how he feels. Nervous. It’s never been like this with Bitty, not since the first time at least.

The ringing stops and Jack gulps.

“Hi there. I’m Matt. How are you tonight?”

Jack tries to let go of the nerves, let himself feel. He has to know whether his feelings for Bitty are real or mere projection.

Jack couldn’t say honestly that Matt isn’t enjoyable. He’s just as open as Bitty and has an evocative way with words that has Jack closing his eyes to give himself a blankness on which to imagine the things he describes.

Jack hangs up after his orgasm and is in the shower shortly after. He lets the water wash away the sweat and come, then stands with his forehead leaning against the tiles as the water pounds his back.

Jack couldn’t shake the thought of Bitty, even with Matt’s voice in his ear near constantly. Even now, he’s lining Matt and Bitty up and noticing all the ways they’re different. All the ways he prefers Bitty.

It’s a clear answer to his question. He really does like Bitty.

-

Jack doesn’t last long before he’s calling the phone line again, asking for Bitty. His stomach is in knots while he waits to be connected and he realises what he’s feeling is guilt.

“Hi, Laurent,” Bitty greets, cheerful as ever.

Jack is relieved to hear it. “Hi, Bitty. How’s it going?”

“Oh, you know, same old same old. I’m a little sad you didn’t ask for me the other night.”

Jack swallows. He could confess to Bitty why he didn’t, but he’s not ready for that. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh hush. Nothing to be sorry for. Actually, I should probably be apologising.”

“What for?”

“For knowing.”

“Oh. Yeah,” Jack says, thinking it over and frowning. “How do you know I didn’t ask for you?”

“When you called the receptionist automatically messaged me to see if I was free. I guess they assumed you’d ask for me.”

Jack frowns. Tater and Kent had assured him that this phone line was confidential and secure, yet this anecdote says otherwise.

“You’ve gone silent on me,” Bitty prods.

Jack shakes his head and shuffles around to cross his legs on the bed. “Just thinking.”

“’Bout what?”

Jack sighs. “About assumptions.”

Bitty matches Jack’s sigh with one that sounds heavy with acknowledgement. Jack can tell Bitty understands what he’s saying, even though he’s not saying much.

“I feel you. Assumptions are… not always pleasant.”

Jack doesn’t know what Bitty’s referring too, but he himself thinks back to all the locker-room comments he’s had to endure, and the media articles and headlines throughout his whole life. It’s not a happy thought, nor one he likes to visit often. This time though it’s like he’s sharing the weight of it with Bitty, and that makes it a little easier to bare.

“I understand. Where I work, it’s…” Jack bites the inside of his cheek, cutting the words off. He has to think this through seriously, what he’s about to say and whether he should say it. On the one hand, he wants to so much that he’s almost choking holding the words in. On the other hand, he needs the anonymity that the phone line gives him.

Jack opens his mouth and lets the words out.

“There’s a lot of talk about acceptance but, at the end of the day… it’s more like ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’.”

“Oh, Laurent.”

“Yeah. Assumptions about my sexuality are—I don’t try to avoid them, but sometimes they just make everything a little harder.”

Bitty is silent for a moment and Jack worries that what he’s said has made him seem ungrateful, or like he’s demanding pity. He doesn’t want any of that. He just wanted to share a part of him that he often can’t.

“I’ve never heard anyone put it that way,” Bitty says softly after a while. “ _It makes everything a little harder._ I guess it’s true.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack feels the need to say, wanting to comfort Bitty from a past hurt.

‘’Thanks, but it’s not you, honey. And it’s in the past now. Thank god. Back where home is,” Jack wants to ask, but doesn’t, and Bitty doesn’t specify, “they weren’t the most—No, they weren’t _any_ friendly to anyone who was gay. I tried to hide it once I figure it out but, it’s just…” Bitty sighs roughly and Jack wishes he was there so he could offer comfort in some way, let Bitty know he’s there without interrupting. A hand on his shoulder maybe, or a hug. He settles for gripping the phone tighter and hoping Bitty knows him well enough to tell.

“When it’s who you are, how can you hide it?” Bitty asks finally.

“Bitty,” Jack starts, wanting to share his own story, but he’s thrown by Bitty’s words.

Confusion and doubt marks Jack’s skin with goose bumps. He feels like he’s been making the decision to hide it for most of his life. And doing it well too. It barely bothered him for the longest time. ‘Hiding’ isn’t even the word he’d use. It was a choice to be other things above his sexuality, and if maybe those other things—athlete, captain—masked certain factors of who he was, that wasn’t always the intent. In fact, most of Jack’s choices since his overdose had been about survival; figuring out what he needed to get past his anxiety and avoid dragging himself back to the cliff edge. He knew that if he was openly bisexual he’d struggle to get where he wanted to be in the NHL, but is it hiding if he wasn’t doing it mainly for that purpose? If enough people know that it doesn’t feel like hiding?

“Are you alright?” Bitty asks. Jack feels like he’s asked too many times already for one conversation.

“It’s just a _part_ of who I am, though,” Jack tries to explain his thoughts.

“What do you mean?”

“Being bisexual. It’s one part, not everything. I don’t think I hide it, but people don’t assume it about me. They get surprised when I tell them, and—"

“It’s alright, Laurent. You don’t have to get defensive with me.”

“I’m not trying to, I just… want you to know that I feel for you. I’ve never tried to, or never had to hide who I was, because people weren’t labelling me. It sounds like they did it to you. I know I can’t do anything, but I wish I could. I wish I could have.”

Bitty draws in a shaky breath and Jack worries at once that he’s upset him enough to make him cry.

“Bitty?”

Bity takes another rattling breath before he answers. “I’m fine. I’m alright.”

“Good,” Jack says emphatically.

“It just means a lot to me to hear someone say that. And for that someone to be you, I—"

Bitty cuts himself off, but Jack’s already heard enough that his heart starts pounding away and his mouth goes dry. ‘For that someone to be you’, Bitty said, like Jack isn’t just another person on the phone. Like maybe Bitty’s singled him out in some way and values his time more. They’ve just been talking about assumptions though, and Jack knows he _should_ know better than to pin these feelings onto someone in Bitty’s position. The mind can’t always be in control though.

Jack wants to keep Bitty on the line, wants them to talk for hours and hours until Bitty’s finished work. He’s got the money, and he wants to. There’s really nothing to stop him. Except that he senses Bitty needs some time by himself after their conversation, and Jack could use some too. He needs to figure out whether he should let himself continue with this new idea that Bitty may like him.

-

After Jack’s revelation during their last phone call, he avoids calling the line for several days. They text still, and Jack continues to look forward to Bitty’s good morning texts, but he can control his feelings a little better when he can’t hear Bitty’s honeyed voice and sprawling accent in his ear. If Jack wasn’t having such a good time texting with Bitty, he’d be worried he’s developed a Pavlovian response to his voice based on the sexual encounters that follow it. His heart still jumps when Bitty’s texts come up on his screen though and he’s smiling so much his cheeks hurt at the end of the day. Jack knows how he feels even if he hasn’t decided whether Bitty likes him seriously, or just prefers him over his other callers.

Two games (and two wins) later—putting The Falconers into the Stanley Cup Finals—Jack makes it home from an away game so tired his vision is blurry and the bright lights in his hallway hurt his eyes. He shouldn’t be able to do anything but strip off and fall into bed but the queasiness in his stomach is a dominating force.

Bitty hasn’t texted in three days.

Jack dumps his luggage, undresses and falls into bed, but manages to take out his phone charger and plug it into the outlet by his bed. He opens the text string between him and Bitty, and double-checks the date and time stamp from Bitty’s last text. Three days ago.

Jack’s sent texts since, including one when he got off the plane tonight. Though he tries to stay up and figure out why Bitty’s gone radio-silent, he drops into sleep quickly. It’s not the restful sleep he should be having after such a tough week. His dreams throw frantic and quick scenes at him, where a blond man gets run over, falls off a cliff, gets deathly ill, screams at Jack.

He wakes up to his alarm feeling groggy, and lets the annoying beep clear away his thoughts for as long as he can stand it. When his limit is reached, he switches it off. There’s still no new texts from Bitty.

Jack doesn’t get it. They’d been doing so well, opening up more and more with each other. Bitty had even dropped a line about sending pictures. That doesn’t seem like something one would offer—even in jest—if they weren’t serious about the relationship.

He manages through a morning run and breakfast before he caves and calls the phone line. It feels awkward making the call in the light of day, but texting clearly isn’t working and Jack is worried.

Jack doesn’t have time for pleasantries when the receptionist answers the phone. “I want to speak to Bitty,” he tells the man.

“Bitty’s unavailable at the moment. I can set you up with—”

“No,” Jack stops him, frustrated even though he knows it’s not the guy’s fault. “I’m just after Bitty. When will he be free?”

“Sorry. I can’t say.”

“Half hour? Hour?” Jack asks, trying to get some answers on what’s going on with Bitty.

The guy on the line sighs out and drops his professional voice. “Look, Laurent. I’m only telling you this because it says here you and Bitty are regulars. He’s on leave. An emergency. I really have no idea when he’ll be back.”

The floor seems to buckle under Jack. “Emergency?”

“Yeah. Oh, shit. Not Bitty. He’s fine. It was a family thing. Sorry for spooking you.”

Jack leans back against the couch, head dropping in relief.

“And you really have no idea when he’ll be back?” Jack has to ask.

“None.”

“Even a guess? Has he contacted you? Or—"

“Deep breaths, man.”

As irksome as Jack finds the stranger telling him what to do, he does as he says, recognising the panic welling up dangerously in him.

“Bitty sent us a message three days ago. As I already said, he’s totally fine. He didn’t say when he was coming back.”

Jack continues his deep breathing. He wishes he had a way to know Bitty was receiving his texts. He wishes he could be there to offer Bitty comfort with whatever is going on, wherever he is.

“Hey, is there a way,” Jack starts to ask, a thought having popped into his head. “Could you still get money to Bitty anyway? Even though he’s off?”

“Well, yeah,” the guy says somewhat hesitantly.

“Okay. Take it from my account. Send him whatever I regularly pay when I call up, and whatever the regular is for when we text.”

“Uh, are you sure man? That’s… well I’ve never had that request before.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” If Jack can’t comfort Bitty in the ways he would like to, at least he can give this. He doesn’t really know what Bitty’s financial situation is, but having to unexpectedly miss work and miss pay can’t be good for anyone. This way, Jack feels at least a little better about Bitty’s absence.

“Alright then. I’ll do it.”

“Thank you,” Jack says gratefully before hanging up, still worried, but knowing he’s doing a little to help Bitty.

-

Bitty stays on Jack’s mind through another day of radio silence. He calls up the phone line again and thankfully gets the same receptionist. He tells him to make a transfer for every day Bitty is away from his job. It takes some convincing, but Jack’s set on providing for Bitty now, and he’s also selfishly hoping it will prompt Bitty to start talking to him again. Even if just a simple thank you text.

On the third day, his phone rings during a meeting with some of the team sponsors. He doesn’t even bother asking to be excused, hoping that his impeccable track record before this moment will cover his back. Bitty is calling him.

Jack jogs away from the meeting room before answer the phone eagerly. “Bitty. Hey. It’s so great to hear from you.”

“Hi, Laurent.” It’s a dull sounding greeting to his ears and Jack worries that whatever is going on with his family is somehow worse than all the things he’d been imagining.

“I’ve missed you. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Bitty tells Jack with a lack of conviction.

“Bitty.” Jack tries at once to comfort and get an answer.

“I…” Bitty sighs harshly. “I _will_ be fine. I’m mostly fine.”

“I’m glad,” Jack says with as much feeling as he can. “You called? Did you want to talk about it?” Jack asks hopefully.

“No. Thank you.”

Jack frowns. “So, why did—

Bitty sighs out wearily. “You’ve got to stop sending me money, Laurent.”

“How did you know it was me?” The payments shouldn’t have come with his details attached.

“I called work. Our receptionist told me what you asked him to do.”

“I wish he hadn’t,” Jack says without really meaning it.

“I don’t think you do. I think you… Well, I’m calling you now.”

Jack should be unsettled that Bitty could get to his motive so quickly, but he can’t find it in himself to be. It’s like Bitty said. He _called_. Jack can hear his voice and know he’s okay.

“I really am glad to hear your voice, Bitty. I was worried when you stopped texting.”

“You did know from the start the texting would be sporadic. I remember telling you.”

“It’s not though. We text every day.”

Bitty is silent, and Jack wonders if that is something Bitty’s trying not to think about.

“Laurent, I can’t accept your money.”

“Why not?”

“I haven’t earned it. I haven’t been—We haven’t talked in almost a week.”

The reminder hurts Jack, as does the sadness in Bitty’s voice. “Please keep it. It would make me feel better knowing you’re still getting an income.”

“But that’s my point. It’s too much for not doing anything.”

“What if I said it was a gift?” Jack tries a different angle.

“Well, then I owe you something in return.”

“No, you don’t,” Jack says harshly. “Sorry. Sorry. What I meant is that… I’m already getting something out of this, Bitty.”

“What,” Bitty asks, something about the word sounding small in Jack’s ear.

“Peace of mind. And I like...” Jack looks around for the right words, a way to convey his feelings that doesn’t make it sounds strange, or twist their relationship into something it’s not. “I like knowing that I may be helping out. It’s what I’d be doing if we were, you know.”

Bitty is silent again, and Jack gives it one more go at convincing him. He takes a deep breath before he lets go of one truth he’s been holding on to. “The thing is... my job makes me a lot of money. Too much for me to use in a lifetime. Doing something like this, using the money in a way that’s altruistic… That means a lot to me.”

Jack starts pacing a small length of the corridor, and shoves his free hand into his pocket so he doesn’t bite his nails. As Jack is waiting for Bitty to respond, George pokes her head out the meeting room. Jack holds up two fingers, not ready to end this call until he’s convinced Bitty to let him care for him. She nods and disappears back inside the meeting room.

When Jack hears Bitty sigh he stops pacing, not wanting to miss a single word.

“Alright, Laurent. I’ll keep the money.”

“And you won’t feel indebted,” Jack double-checks.

“Laurent,” Bitty says in warning.

“And you won’t feel indebted,” Jack repeats.

Bitty sighs. “You may need to remind me not to.”

Jack drops his head down, so relieved at the honesty. “Of course. Thank you.”

“No. Thank you.” It’s the most emotional Bitty has sounded the entire call. “You’re… this is probably the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me, and you don’t even—Thank you. So much.”

-

After that call, it’s only a few days until Bitty starts texting him regularly again. He and Jack pick up easily where they left off. Jack notices he’s happier, and if the chirping from some of his teammates is anything to go by, he’s not the only one. They lose the first game of the final round and though Jack can’t be honest with Bitty about the situation, Bitty finds ways to help Jack out of his misery quicker than anyone else could have.

“Hey, Jack. You got a minute?”

It’s a testament to Jack’s new feeling of centeredness at being back in regular contact with Bitty that he doesn’t panic at all when George asks. He nods and follows her into her office, sitting himself down on one of the chairs across from her desk.

“What’s up?” he asks.

George smiles. “That was going to be my question to you.”

“Oh, ah. Not much. Things are good. Great.”

George nods, then cocks her head. “I don’t normally trust the team as an accurate news source, but I’ve been hearing a lot of overlapping stories about you and a mysterious significant other?”

Jack swallows, and the panic he’d avoided earlier surfaces quickly, despite how close he feels to George. “Uh…”

“Jack, you know you’re at no obligation to disclose any information about anything to do with your personal life. I just wanted to let you know that if you’ve been trying to keep it under wraps, well, your team knows you better than you may think they do.”

“I wouldn’t,” Jack swallows and starts again. “I’m not keeping it under wraps. It’s not… really anything.”

George leans back in her chair and shrugs. “Alright then.”

Jack doesn’t feel George is pressuring at all, but it feels right to confess to her, “I’d like there to be though.”

“With?” George asks simply, but Jack knows what answer she wants as it’s not the first time they’ve talked about it.

“A man.”

“Right. Well, to reiterate, there’s still no onus on you to come out even if you do start dating him.” She’s said it before but the repetition helps calm Jack’s nerves. “And obviously, the team’s got your back. Management too.”

Jack nods gratefully and resettles himself in the chair. “I don’t want to be a disruption though. We’re in the middle of Stanley Cup Finals, and—”

Jack quiets when George levels a look at him. “I’ve got four members of this team married, and another five in steady relationships. None of them are disruptions and this wouldn’t be either.”

Jack takes a deep breath. “Okay.”

“Jack,” she says, sounding eerily like his mother, “The success of The Falconers should not come above your personal happiness and wellbeing. I know I’ve told you this before.”

Jack looks down at his feet and nods.

“That said, if coming out isn’t going to make you happy, but dating this man is… there’s not a rule that says you have to be out to the world in order to date him.”

Jack looks up to narrow his eyes at her. “Won’t the media—”

“They’re thick in the head to this topic,” George says, rolling her eyes. “And even if they aren’t, is there a rule saying you need to come out to them before you can date someone?” Jack shakes his head. “Exactly.”

Jack waits until George breaks their eye-contact, then asks, “Was there anything else you wanted me for?”

“Not really. Unless you want to help me work out an endorsement deal for next season?”

“Ah, sure.” Jack moves to the edge of his seat. “I don’t really know much about it though.”

George laughs. “Jack. I was kidding. Go think about what we’ve discussed.”

“Thanks, George.”

Jack heads back to the lounge area and sits on a vacant lounge. He closes his eyes and leans his head against the back of the chair, counting steadily backwards from one hundred in French until he’s feeling settled. He’s not sure what George wanted him to take away from their conversation, whether she actually had something didactic in mind or was merely chatting to him as friends. Nevertheless, Jack does find himself circling over certain parts of their conversation.

Dating Bitty would make him happy. Being out publicly at this stage would not. He’s always viewed the two as linked; having to come out to the public, to come out to Bitty, to date Bitty. Now George has made him aware there’s another option, one where Jack can have the happiness without the anxiety of becoming a public face of LGBT+ hockey.

It sounds like the guys already think he’s dating someone, so why not _actually_ date someone and give some truth to their suspicions. If Bitty and Jack had met differently but continued in exactly the way they were—phone calls, and texts, and near-daily checking in—even Jack would say they were going out. Jack’s not ignoring that paying Bitty for their interactions undermines that same point, but he knows what it feels like to him.

‘You’ll never know if you don’t try’, as his parents used to tell him often as a child. Maybe he should. He’d be fooling himself if he said he didn’t want to.

Jack forces himself to imagine the worst thing that could happen if he does what he’s thinking of doing. The nightmare scenario is that Bitty stops talking to him. It would be a massive upset to Jack’s new routine and his emotional stability. He could slip back into the funk he was feeling before first calling the line, back before playoffs. He can’t say whether he’d be better or worse for having had this with Bitty and he’s not sure that ‘better to have loved and lost’ is a sentiment he cares to experience.

On the other hand, the best possible outcome is worth risking the nightmare a thousand times over. In the best case scenario, he gets to date Bitty, _really_ date him, not the facsimile of it like they have currently. He can’t believe it’s taken George saying something to him to realise that the option is there. It seems so right now.

He gets off the couch and moves quickly through the stadium until he’s outside in the brisk air. He dials Bitty’s number. Georgia was right, who says he needs to come out before asking Bitty out? He’s three steps ahead of himself anyway, not sure whether Bitty is even interested in him the same way. It’s not like Bitty hasn’t been vocal in his affection toward Jack, but at the end of the day, as close as Jack may feel to him, it’s still a job for Bitty and Jack’s bank account still has a regular drain to prove it. This phone call could change that though.

Jack bites his fingernails as the phone rings. An old habit he thought he’d lost. It rings out and goes to voicemail, and Jack hangs up instead of leaving a message.

It’s a good thing as he realises he doesn’t know what to say. He wants to ask Bitty out, but how does he do that in a way that doesn’t make Bitty uncomfortable, or feel like he has to either say yes to avoid angering a client, or totally break all ties with Jack.

His phone starts vibrating in his hand before he can think it through. It’s Bitty.

“Hello.”

“Hi, Jack. What’s up?” Bitty asks cheerily; the exact same opening Jack used with Georgia earlier.

“Um. Not much. How are you?” Jack asks, newly nervous.

Bitty laughs. “Tired. I was up late last night writing an essay.”

Jack latches on to the topic, relieved, buying himself time to figure out how to phrase the question. “Procrastinating again?”

“Well, it was _productive_ procrastination. Does that count?”

“Define productive.” Jack lets himself relax into the conversation.

“Well, I ain't gonna be hungry for a week at least.”

“Bitty,” Jack chastises.

“I know, I know.” Bitty laughs again then sighs. “Actually, that was a lie. I gave the pies away to people.”

Jack smiles. “I’m sad I didn’t get one.”

“Yeah. I’d love to bake for you sometime. I know just what I’d cook.”

Jack’s heart thuds against his ribcage then starts racing. Now is his moment.

“Um. Yes.” It comes out clunky and inelegant, and Jack covers his forehead with his hand, embarrassed.

“Are you alright, Jack?”  Bitty asks politely. “Was there something you had in mind when you called?”

“Yes,” Jack says, then can’t get any more words out.

There’s a pause.

“Oh. That’s it?” Bitty asks.

“No. I—” Again, Jack’s words stop.

“Should I guess?” Jack nods, but Bitty seems to understand that’s what’s happened. “Um, gosh, okay. Well, something about my cooking for you seemed to prompt you, so… Darn this is hard without visual clues.” Bitty huffs out. “Is it about food?”

Jack shakes his head. “No,” he adds belatedly, but Bitty’s already started making thinking noises.

“Okay, then is it about… Nope. Can’t do it. This is way too hard, you may have to use your words for me, Laurent, or we’ll be goin’ round—”

“I want to date you.”

There’s silence on the other end following Jack’s less than eloquent sentence. Jack swears repeatedly in his head. He threw it away like a coin to a wishing-well and it’s not so much rippled the water but splashed into it.

He can barely hear breathing through the phone. “Bitty?” This feels like the longest they’ve gone with silence between them during a phone call, though that’s probably just in Jack’s head.

“I’m still here,” he says, but faintly.

“Oh. Good.” Jack paces back and forth outside the rink, pressing the phone hard against his ear so he doesn’t miss a single response Bitty makes.

The silence continues unnervingly. He starts to fill it, spilling out thoughts and emotions that have been flowing secretly through him for weeks. “I know it’s a job for you, and I can’t be the first person to ask and— _Fuck_ ,” he whispers, moving the phone momentarily away. “Get it together, Jack.”

He shakes his head roughly and brings the phone back. “I—The point is—What I mean is that I like you. I really like you. I would really like the chance to meet you outside of this phone line. If you want.”

The words feel awkward as they tumble from his mouth, but he can’t stop them.

“I feel very strongly towards you, and I sometimes think that you… I hope that you feel the same.” Jack sighs out, feeling somehow a weight lifted from his shoulders, but an anvil dropped into his stomach. “I had to ask,” he finishes, coming to a halt finally.

This time, Jack can make out breathing on the other end of the phone. “Oh, Laurent.”

Jack starts nodding dejectedly, hearing the hesitation in Bitty’s voice, the pity he must now be feeling toward Jack. Someone else falsely mistaking Bitty’s competence in his job for real affection.

“It’s alright,” Jack tries to console, but it’s clear to his own ears that he’s gutted.

“No, no. Laurent. Please, don’t.” Bitty says is like a complete sentence. _Please don’t what?_ Jack thinks. “I need just a second, please, honey.”

Jack tries not to read into the term of endearment. Bitty knows how much he likes them though. Why would he use it now if what’s to follow is a rejection of Jack? He can’t consider the possibility that not only will Bitty say no but that this will be the end for any communication between them, but it rises in his mind like a red flag; a clear consequence of his hastily thought out actions. One of the rare times he acts on an emotional whim and it has the potential for a massive backfire.

“I shouldn’t say this, but…” Bitty hesitates so long that Jack worries he’s talked himself out of it. “For a long time, you haven’t felt like a job to me.”

Jack smiles quick and sharp with relief, but it’s still far from an answer to his question. He lets Bitty continue.

“I do care about you, of course. I… I’m not sure that I would, or that I could— _should_ even—meet with you, I mean…”

Jack starts pacing again, needing to channel the anxious energy he’s feeling.

“There’s so much to consider.”

“I know. I agree,” Jack gets out in nervous soundbites.

“The only reason I—Well, I mean, confidentiality is so important to me with this job. I can’t just throw that away no matter how much I want to meet with you. And I do.”

Jack sighs out. “Bitty, even if you can’t—I don’t want to force—Just hearing you say that is something to me. A lot, actually.”

“I’m glad.” Bitty somehow manages to sound it, even within the context of this conversation. “I want to tell you that there’s also… If I say it’s not you, it’s me, does that make it better or worse?”

Jack laughs weakly at Bitty’s attempt at a joke. “Not sure it makes much difference.”

“Hmm. Okay. Well, I suppose it’s not really relevant, but in the same way, it is, because it’s a reason for my reluctance, and I just, although maybe not, but—Goddamn,” Bitty swears.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Jack says immediately even though he’s curious to know more about Bitty; as always.

Bitty exhales in a long breath that fuzzes in Jack’s ear. “I’m not… out to my parents. I think I’d like to be before, well, if we meet.”

Jack nods slowly. “I get that.”

Bitty laughs sardonically. “Sure you do.”

“No, Bitty, I’m…” Jack swallows. “I’m not out either.”

“Really?” Bitty asks after a beat.

“Well, it’s not exactly the same, but yes. There are friends—and yes, my parents—that know, but with—“ Jack stumbles over giving away too much about himself, though it’s on the tip of his tongue and so tempting to offer to Bitty. He swallows it down knowing that it’s not the time to reveal himself, especially with no firm answer on his request for a date. “I told you about the ‘don’t ask don’t tell’ mentality. There are people that will… find out eventually, but I’ve not wanted to tell them. Yet or… ever.”

“I never knew that about you.”

“I know. I never said. I’m sure there’s a lot I don’t know about you either. But dating would, you know, help with that,” Jack adds on without trying to sound needling.

Bitty sighs out and Jack prepares himself for whatever is coming next.

“Laurent.” Just from the tone of it, the downwards pitch at the end of his name, Jack knows what’s coming. “I can’t say yes.”

“Alright.”

“Not now, at least.”

“Alright,” Jack repeats, not saying much because he’s sure the words will break themselves over his sorrow.

“I want to think about it though, please.”

“Alright.”

“I mean it,” Bitty says with startling vehemence, startling Jack from his downwards spiraling. “Give me time. I _will_ call you back.”

Bitty hangs up and Jack’s left standing in the carpark, his hope some miles away in the hands of another.


	2. I Have Heard You Speak A Million Words

Jack would like to say that he doesn’t obsess over Bitty’s non-response over the following days. Thankfully, practices and games are brutal enough that it’s very nearly the truth. As alternate captain, Jack spends his free moments surrounded by his teammates, training or going over plays. He checks his phone obsessively and it doesn’t go unnoticed by them. The guys share looks they think he doesn’t notice. 

He leaves to check his phone during dinners and keeps it near him in the gym, tapping it when he can to check for unread messages. The first night of their away stint is the hardest, lying alone in bed and fighting the urge to call Bitty. He respects Bitty’s space though, so instead of calling him to talk as has become his routine, Jack flicks through television channels until he finds the most uninvolved program, which he keeps on low as background noise, falling asleep to the sound of canned laughter and infomercials.

They win the first but lose their second away game. The phone call catches him off-guard in a quiet moment between team breakfast and getting onto the bus back to Providence. An unlisted number shows up on his screen. Jack stares at the phone, trying to figure out what the area code is. He’s conservative with giving out his number, so it’s most likely telemarketers, but there’s something in his gut telling him to answer.

“Hello?”

“Laurent.” Bitty’s voice crashes over Jack. He’d missed hearing it so much that he smiles instinctively. “It’s Bitty.”

“I know,” Jack says with relief.

“Oh, good. I wasn’t sure. I’m calling from my personal phone.”

Jack nods. That explains why it was unlisted.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said the other day. Obsessively, to tell the truth.”

“You’re not alone in that.”

“Good to hear.”

Jack looks around his room, waiting for Bitty to keep talking, trying not to let his emotions get too far ahead, pre-empting.

“I want to try it—us—too. I’d like to date you.”

Jack slumps onto the foot of his bed, lying back feeling suddenly giddy. “Cool,” he says in a response which is anything but.

Bitty laughs. “Yeah,  _ cool _ . But I, well, I’ve got some suggestions. I think we should take it slow.”

“Seems a little late for that.”

“Well, that’s part of it. I think we need to hit reset on some aspects of our, uh, relationship.”

“Which parts?” Jack asks.

“No sex,” Bitty says flatly.

Jack is surprised for a second. “Oh. Er—"

“Is that a deal-breaker? I really hope it’s not, because—"

“No, no. Bitty.” Jack pushes himself up again. “I just hadn’t thought about it, but it makes sense. It’s fine. Whatever you need.”

Bitty sighs out. “I’m glad. It’s just, I know from experience that sometimes who you portray yourself as on a platform offering anonymity isn’t a whole picture of you,” Bitty speaks quickly, and Jack can tell that he’s nervous. “I think we need to get a clearer picture of who each other is, and not just rely on the, uh, sexual connection we already have.”

“Sounds good,” Jack tries to reassure. “I’m sure all your suggestions will, Bitty. If they get me the chance to meet you, how can they not.”

“Laurent,” Bitty says fondly, and it’s jarring to remember that they don’t even know each other’s real names. “On that topic, I don’t think we should meet face to face. Not for a while.”

Jack can’t deny that it’s not what he’d been hoping for, but it’s like he said. Anything that leads him to meeting this person who’s come to be such a part of his life is something he’s willing to commit to.

“Okay. I’m pretty busy at the moment anyway,” Jack adds truthfully to soften the point.

He gets up off the bed and starts to gather stray bits and pieces into his backpack. He’s dawdled in his room much longer than normal. He’s not late yet but he’ll need to hurry to make the scheduled departure time.

Bitty obviously hears his movements. “Do you have to be somewhere?”

“Sorry,” Jack says, disappointed at the circumstances. “Yes, I’ve got… I have to get on a bus.”

“Oh! You didn’t have to answer then.”

“I didn’t actually know it was going to be you.”

“Oh.”

“Ah, no, not like that,” Jack rushes to get out. “I meant the number showed as unlisted. I’m glad I answered. And I definitely would have if I knew it was you. The bus will wait for me.” Jack bites his tongue to stop himself saying more, every little clue that could pile up to give himself away.

It’s something he’ll need to think about going forwards. It’s like Bitty said, they won’t have anonymity anymore if they pursue this. Jack may not have to come out to the public, but at some point, he’s going to have to come out to Bitty, share who he actually is. It’s too stressful for Jack to think about now. What if Bitty knows who Jack Zimmermann is? What if he doesn’t? Does Jack owe him some talk about what it might mean to date him? Jack shakes his head and returns his focus to the phone call.

“It’s my private number,” Bitty tells Jack. “Which is another point. You shouldn’t use the phone line anymore. It’d be ridiculous. And unfair to you, obviously.”

Jack’s more than able to pay for it, and he’s gotten used to the thought of Bitty receiving some of it. It makes sense though so he agrees without fuss.

“I was thinking I’d—

Jack’s interrupted by a loud knocking at his door and Tater putting his head around the doorway. Jack presses the phone to his chest.

“You not on the bus. Normally first. We thought you dead.”

“Not dead.” Jack gestures to his phone. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Tater raises his eyebrows at him but exits and shuts the door behind him.

“Sorry. That was my team—My friend.” Jack double-checks he’s taken everything from the bedside table and heads to the door. “I’ve got to go, Bitty.”

“Eric.”

“Pardon?” Jack steps into the hallway.

“Eric,” Bitty repeats. “It’s my real name.”

“Eric,” Jack echoes him. It’s funny to his ears, clunky around the personality he’s imagined Bitty to be.

“What about you?” Bitty—Eric—asks him.

Jack flounders, voices in his heads a riotous argument against giving out his real name, even though it’s only fair, even though he wants to, because there’s still an element of unpredictability to giving out his personal information.

“You don’t have to,” Bitty—Eric—says. “I wanted you to know mine, but if you want to keep calling me Bitty, or you don’t want to tell me yours, that’s fine too.”

Jack’s in the lobby now, walking as slow as he dares toward the team bus. He has to end this call before he gets on. He shuts his eyes for a moment and tries to quiet the arguing voices so he can listen to something deeper.

“My name is Jack.”

-

It’s strange how familiar it is, talking and texting with Eric, now that it’s officially a prelude to (or actually is, Jack hasn’t asked) dating. Jack worried that slipping from a client relationship to one where he and Eric are meeting as equals would jolt them into a period of awkwardness and having to re-learn how to be together. If anything, Jack feels freer now to be his honest self, knowing that Eric is talking to him entirely because he wants to, and not because he’s getting paid.

Jack is still mindful of revealing his full identity, even as he’s showing Eric his full self. He doesn’t consider himself to be  _ famous _ or a  _ celebrity _ , but he knows that’s not the same as an outsider’s perspective on his position. So although Eric now possesses a lot more information about him—how old he is, where he grew up—he’s kept enough back that to Eric, he’s just Jack. He likes it that way. There’s no pre-conceived notion in Eric’s head of how he should be.

Jack would normally never be on his phone the hours before a match for the Stanley Cup, but Eric’s been texting him frequently all morning and finally resorted to calling. Jack doesn’t want to let the call go to voicemail. Besides, Eric has become a good luck charm for Jack.

Jack smiles at the name on his home screen and mutters a vague excuse to the guys near him as he steps into the corridor to answer.

“Hey, Eric,” Jack greets warmly, keeping his voice low.

“Jack! Sorry about all the texts-”

“Don’t be,” Jack interrupts.

Bitty laughs. “Well good, because there is  _ big news _ on the preserves front. I was conversing with my Aunty the other day, and—”

“‘Conversing’, were you?” Jack teases.

“Hush you. Yes.  _ Conversing _ . Anyway, it turns out, I’ve been sterilising my jars wrong for years!”

Bitty sounds so gobsmacked by this that Jack has to laugh. He misses the locker room door opening.

“Oi, Zimmermann.”

“One sec,” Jack tells Bitty, then turns to see Marty sticking his head out the door. “Yeah?”

“George wants to talk to the team. Get your ass in here.”

“Alright, give me a moment.”

Marty nods and shuts the door.

“Sorry, that was my—ah, a, friend,” Jack explains, hedging around the word ‘teammate’.

He waits for Eric to say something in acknowledgement but he’s gone silent at the other end.

“I need to go,” Jack says. “But tell me about the preserves later, eh?”

“Oh, of course.” There’s something off about the way Eric says it. A little uncertain.

Jack doesn’t have the time to figure out why though, he tells Eric he’s looking forward to it, then hangs up and re-joins everyone in the locker room.

-

The game is tough—it’s for the cup, how can it not be—but not as draining on Jack as he expected. Their win may be masking it though.

Jack takes the cup from Thirdy and does his lap, and god it feels good to have the physical payoff of his commitment in his hands. He wishes he could tell Eric, try and describe to him the wondrous feeling inside him, but as he passes the cup on to Tater, he knows that he can’t. One day, but not yet.

Still, he wants Eric to be a part of this, because he’s been a part of Jack’s life for months. That night he slips out to the rooftop early into the team’s celebration at some restaurant-slash-bar that Snowy knew, and calls Eric. He doesn’t know what he’s going to say exactly, but he’s got this big bubble of happiness in his chest, like a balloon filled to bursting, and it feels right to call. He paces back and forth, unable to stay still, body vibrating with energy. Eric doesn’t answer on the first call, but Jack simply calls again, clutching the phone to his face and beaming out to the stars hiding in the sky beyond clouds.

“Jack,” Eric says when he answers.

“Eric! Hi. Hello. God, it’s great to hear your voice.”

“I’ve barely said anything,” Eric points out.

“Doesn’t matter, doesn’t—God I just, am so incredibly happy,” Jack gushes,  _ and possibly high on adrenaline, _ he thinks without saying. “I had to call you,” Jack declares.

“Well, that’s… Alright.”

Eric doesn’t laugh, but Jack does enough for the both of them. Jack pivots as he reaches the corner of the balcony and starts back to the other side, hand trailing along the rough wall.

“I want to say that, Eric, I… I look forward to meeting you every day. I can’t stop imagining what it’ll be like seeing you for real, right in front of me. I’m so—Crisse _ , _ I’m so fucking  _ happy _ you agreed to meet me. Do you know that? Do you know how I feel?”

“Yeah, hun. But maybe you’re getting ahead of yourself?” Eric hedges with a warning in his voice that Jack misses completely.

“Not at all. You don’t need to meet to know someone. And I know you! And you know me!”

“I do,” Eric says. “Yes.” It’s short and clipped and not at all what Eric is normally like.

Jack frowns. “Is something wrong?” He stops and braces himself. “Fuck. I’m coming on too strong, aren’t I? Shit. I just… well I didn’t want to say, but I’m just feeling… I had to share tonight with you. I wanted to tell you what just happened, but, well—”

Jack stops more words coming out by biting the hem of the jacket he’s wearing.

“You can tell me. I think I...” Eric sighs heavily.

“Don’t sigh, don’t.” Jack tries to pull Eric out of his funk. “Oh, did I wake you up or something? I didn’t even think. I just was,” Jack drops his voice to a whisper and laughs at himself. “I was just about to repeat things I’d already said. I’m just… happy. You make me happy, Eric. I don’t even know what you look like, really, and—”

“Stop.”

“No. Can’t stop. Can’t stop the way I feel about you. Eric. Bitty. I—”

“Jack Laurent Zimmermann. Stop.”

There are only a handful of things that could make Jack’s feelings stop rolling off his tongue right now. Eric using his full name is one of them.

Jack feels he’s gained the weight of an entire world in one second. Where before he was practically dancing across the rooftop, now he’s stuck, tar moving up his legs and torso and into his heart which flops over in painful, sluggish thumps.

“Eric?” he questions on a whisper.

“I’m sorry,” Eric says, and Jack finally hears his voice for what it is—resigned. “I know who you are, Jack Zimmermann.”

“But, you can’t?” Jack can’t accept it. He’s been so aware of keeping that a secret, so careful about what to say and not say to Eric the entire time they’ve known each other, even when it will still via the phone line. It’s been Jack’s biggest fear from the start. It’s not possible, it just isn’t, that Eric can know.

“How did you find out,” Jack demands.

“Is it really that important?”

“Tell me. I need to know.” 

Jack realises he’s not being kind or nice in the way he barks the sentences to Eric. His brain is fuzzing out on him, racing twenty steps ahead because if Eric knows then who else does? The way they met, Jack’s sexuality, none of that can come out like this. It’s not right, it’s not fair to him not to have that control over his identity and the parts he shares with the public.

His thought process is cloudy, frantic, anxious. It’s why he can’t stop the anger from showing in his voice. “Tell me.”

“Fine, Jack.” Eric doesn’t sound happy about it, but surely he knows where Jack is coming from? He’ll forgive him for these moments of panic. Jack just needs to hear how Eric came to know who he is so he can move beyond this and go back to that feeling from earlier tonight.

“Earlier today, when I called you about the preserves, I heard someone calling you ‘Zimmermann.’”

Jack closes his eyes and leans heavily against the wall. God he’s normally so careful about that.

“I didn’t immediately think it was you. Jack Zimmermann. That could be common. But then I kept pulling together things from our conversations and it added up.”

“What things?” Jack asks, still needing to know how Eric found out.

“Well, for starters, you chose your middle name as a pseudonym when we first met. I would’ve passed it off as coincidence, but then there’s the fact that, well… you told me you made a lot of money. When you insisted on paying me while I was visiting dad in hospital. I know how much athletes earn. It fit. Plus there’s the funny timing of your calls. It was real inconsistent sometimes, but I guess that’s coz you were travelling for work.”

“Then on top of that,” Bitty continues, “You told me what you looked like. I’m not sure if I told you this, but I do follow the NHL.”

Jack sighs. Of course. Of course, out of all the people he could have ended up talking to when he first called, it’s the person who follows hockey. His heart rate is starting to slow down, following the resignation Jack’s beginning to feel.

“With finding out your full name, and putting all that other stuff together—I knew how tall you were, the colour of your hair, your eyes. The sound of your voice.”

“Did you look me up?” Jack asks, already expecting a positive answer.

“Yes.” Eric sounds sorry about it. “Your voice is flatter in interviews, but I could still hear you so clearly. That’s when I really knew.”

Jack nods though he knows Eric can’t tell. He breathes slowly in and out, focussing on the physicality of it. He doesn’t know what the next move is here. He doesn’t know if Eric is still going to want to meet him, if he wants or even should still meet Eric.

“Have you told anyone?” Jack asks.

“What?” Eric sounds affronted. “Of course not. How could you ask that?”

“How could I not? I’ve got to think about my career.”

“Your  _ career _ ?”

“Yes. Why do you sound so incensed?” Jack asks, incredulous at the quick change in Eric’s mood.

“Because, you—Coz we’re—Jack, you said all that stuff about your feelings and how much you—You should trust me! I thought you did, actually. But you just straight up asked me whether I was going to  _ tell people _ , like I don’t understand how horrible that would be. And not for your  _ career _ Jack, but for you—for anyone—as a person.”

“Alright, god, Eric.” Jack presses a hand hard against his shut eyes. “I just needed to check.”

“Fine. Fine.”

There’s a terse silence. Jack stares up at a string of fairy-lights above him until his eyes water. What a fucking mess. He was happy a few minutes ago. No, he was ecstatic and loopy with needing to talk to Eric, the guy he’s been falling for. Now he realises how bitingly cold it is outside and he shivers and regrets this phone call.

That’s not fair to say. Regret is too strong. He’s just annoyed at this whole situation and though right now he’s feeling irritable toward Eric, that doesn’t erase the history they have. Short, maybe, but deep and it means something to Jack. Now it all feels shaky and insubstantial. Eric is reacting in a way that’s blindsided Jack. Maybe he doesn’t know him as fully as he’d hoped.

“Look,” Eric starts. “I know you’ve just won the cup. I guess that’s what you wanted to tell me earlier. Congratulations.” Jack doesn’t feel congratulated the way Eric says it; sarcastic and sharp. “You should go be with the team.”

Jack drags his hand roughly along his jaw. “Yeah. Better than this conversation,” he mumbles purposefully loud.

“Hey. Don’t you blame me for this,” Eric says with renewed sharpness of tone.

“I’m not.”

“You’re the one who’s been lying to me.”

“It wasn’t lying.”

“It amounts to the same thing. Don’t twist it.”

“Don’t pretend you can’t understand where I’m coming from then.”

“Of  _ course _ I do. I’m not an idiot, though it seems you might think I am.”

“When did I say that?” Jack asks angrily.

“Maybe when you asked whether I’d tell anyone, like as a gay man from Georgia I don’t understand the benefits of being closeted.” That hurts Jack to hear. “Maybe when you didn’t tell me who you really were because you didn’t think I could still treat you like a person.”

“That’s not why I didn’t tell you.”

“Well I’m not ready to hear why you think you did.”

“Why I  _ think _ I did? I know my own thought process, Eric.”

“Better be some thought process. You owe me an explanation.”

“I need you to promise you won’t tell anyone.”

“Do not ask me to sign a non-disclosure.”

“I will if it’s safer,” Jack says, hating himself for the words as they burst from him.

“Fucking hell. Fuck this,” Eric spits.

Jack can’t help but agree.

He’s not sure who hangs up first, but one second he’s listening to Eric swear at him and the next his arm is drawn back ready to throw his phone off the roof.

He doesn’t.

Now that he’s not in the middle of the phone call, his emotions are drawing themselves back in. He drags his body over to one of the round tables on the balcony and slips on a stool, letting his head drop down into his hands.

“Fuck,” he swears, and likes the way it feels so much that he does it again, then again, then again, and one last time.

Eric knows who he is. That was it, the final secret between them is out there. Jack’s too frayed to control his anxiety. In his mind’s eye, he has an image of a frightening future. Himself, hounded by paparazzi, being asked about his sex life, his sexuality. Somewhere in the background is a figure with indistinct features, but blond hair and a smirk, standing with fistfuls of money.

He’s hyperventilating before he realises. It takes longer than it should to stop.

He re-joins the celebration eventually, obligation driving him back downstairs. The team are all so far gone that no-one mentions how out of it Jack looks (he’d stopped into the bathroom and was shocked by his reflection). He tries to join in, be frivolous, and manages to for minutes at a time before his own voice clangs in his head, repeating things he’d said earlier that make him flinch for several reasons; anger at his reactions, worry that Eric’s going to tell his secrets, despair that the relationship is gone.

He has to bow out before anyone else, making pathetic excuses about having a headache. Once home, he regrets leaving. At least out with the team there were infinite distractions from his thoughts and the terrible futures his brain is taunting him with. At home, there’s nothing but the quiet and the entry in his call log that he stares at, unblinking, as he fails to sleep.

Eric 01:12 Duration 9:32.


	3. Even My Phone Misses Your Calls

Jack hates himself for it, but he can’t help worrying that Eric is going to talk. It’s worse at night, lying in bed and feeling a near insatiable urge to call Eric like he’s grown accustomed to. When he dreams, it’s a jumble of memories that get woven into new fears and leave him feeling rotten in the morning; ill-rested and ill-tempered. He’s thankful he doesn’t have to be around his teammates as much now that the season is over, and when he is—for dinners, awards ceremonies, parades, post-season press days—his anxiety over Eric having the ability to derail his life gets locked away in a box so he can make it through.

He thought he was the only one left in the stadium after a half-day of interviews when George comes into the players’ lounge. He doesn’t think he’s quick enough to drop the sour expression on his face as she sits across from him at the table.

“What’s going on, Jack?” George asks not unkindly.

“I’m just tired,” Jack tries to deflect with a half-truth.

George doesn’t say anything, but the slight shake of her head tells him she doesn’t buy it. George doesn’t strive to fill in the silence, and it makes Jack mildly uncomfortable. Eventually, driven by that feeling, Jack speaks.

“Eric knows who I am.”

“Eric?” George asks.

“The guy who—” Jack bites his tongue. ‘Who I met on the sex phone line’ isn’t quite the phrase he wants to use in front of George. “Who I told you about the other day,” he settles on.

George’s eyebrows draw down. “You hadn’t told him?”

Jack shakes his head. “But he figured it out.”

George takes a moment to look over Jack. “You think this is a bad thing?” She guesses accurately, though sounds confused by it.

“Of course. What if he tells people?”

“Ah.” George nods slowly.

Jack is relieved that George understands what he’s going through without him having to come clean with the whole truth. “If it—"

“Jack,” George interrupts. “We’ve spoken about this. I know you’re ready. It’s not an issue to be seen dating him.”

“That’s not—” Jack cuts himself off.

Without going into detail about how he met Eric, she can’t comprehend why Jack is reacting so fiercely with so much worry to finding out Eric knows who he is. Jack wishes Tater were here to explain the situation for him. George doesn’t seem to agree with the conclusions Jack’s drawn, but he wants her on his side.

He clears his throat, then says it quickly like ripping a band-aid off. “I met Eric through a sex phone line.”

Jack waits uneasily for George to react.

She draws back slightly, staring at Jack, who looks at her steadily despite the twisting nerves in his gut as he gets worked up about being judged or belittled. It’s hard convincing his brain that George is a friend and that she won’t think those things.

George opens her mouth, then snaps it shut and hums. She takes her own deep breath then asks, “Your worry is about _that_ part coming out? Not your sexuality?”

An accurate guess again. Jack nods.

“Okay. Listen.” George sits taller in her seat. “I understand. Having that information out there—potentially combined with a forced outing—would be horrendous for anyone. It’s worth considering how you’d cope.”

With all the time he’s spent thinking of exactly that, Jack thinks he has a firm idea.

“But Jack,” George continues, her gaze heavy on him. “I may have never met Eric—and I don’t know how close you two are—but the other day you opened up about him. For the first time in the three years you’ve been here, you told me there was someone important in your life. Knowing who you are as a person, I don’t think you’d give your time and commitment to someone who you didn’t trust. Someone who would sell you out.”

Jack can only sit in silence as George’s words settle themselves inside his gut and swell uncomfortably, overtaking his nerves. The new feeling of shame is even more unpleasant.

“Do you hear what I’m saying?” George asks softly as Jack sits there and breathes with increasing unsteadiness.

Jack blinks down at the table. “Fuck.” The table swims in his vision and he drops his head lower to hide his face. “This is my fault.”

“That wasn’t what I was saying.”

Jack shakes his head at George’s words. “But it is. I—I yelled at him the other night when he told me who he knew who I was. I…” Jack presses a hand to his stomach, feeling sick as he goes over all the things he said to Eric that night, horrible insults to his character.

In the time he’s spent worrying, he never once thought to look at it from the other side. What must Eric have felt? All he’s done was be honest about what he found out, and Jack’s reaction was anger and distrust and antagonism. He’s poisoning his own relationship with his actions and it could be entirely his fault if Eric never speaks to him again.

Jack stands up.

“Where’re you going?” George asks, standing as well. “I don’t want you to think I meant you’re in the wrong.”

“I’ve got to apologise to Eric,” Jack declares, pulling his phone out and bringing up his contacts.

“Alright, Jack. Maybe you should wait until tomorrow, hey? Figure out what to say?” George suggests reasonably.

He looks over to George. He’s not sure what shows in his face, but George immediately sighs

“Alright,” she says again. “Yes, you should apologise to him. But Jack,” George walks round the table to him. “Don’t be surprised if he’s angry, or annoyed. Or not ready to accept it.”

She walks out the room and Jack watches her go knowing she’s right. He’s still got to apologise though.

-

The phone rings out several times before it’s answered. Jack knows it must be annoying for Eric, but this apology has already been left so long.

“What,” Eric snaps in greeting.

“I need to apologise to you,” Jack says in a rush before Eric can regret answering his call.

“I don’t think I’m in the mood to hear it.”

“Please,” Jack begs. He has no time or patience for arrogance. He’d be down on his knees for Eric to see if it would help. “Please. I was wrong to say those things to you the other night.”

Jack doesn’t go any further though there’s more he wants to get off his chest; faults and assumptions that are coming to the forefront of his mind now that George has made him see things from another side. But he needs to know Eric is going to listen. He doesn’t want to keep him on the line against his will. He doesn’t want to make this about his own redemption.

“Go on,” Eric says eventually.

“Eric, I’m so sorry,” Jack says, grateful he’s being heard out. “The way I reacted was out of line. I said that I was looking forward to meeting you because I care about you, and that’s still true.”

Jack wishes Eric would say something back to that, just a simple ‘me too’ so Jack knows he’s not been irreconcilably shunted from Eric’s life. It doesn’t come. He pushes on.

“I know you. You’d never share my secret. I’m… ashamed that I thought you would, even for a moment. I was surprised, and confused. Yes, I decided not to tell you who I was, and I’m sorry. Not that I didn’t have my reasons but that’s—” Jack shakes his head hard. Offering excuses isn’t what this conversation is about.

Jack takes a deep breath to steady himself. “I’m sorry, Eric. I should have trusted you.”

Jack waits for a response, counting backwards from ten, breathing deeply. He feels shaky and he presses his hand flat against his stomach to try to stop the trembling. Eric is so silent. He worries that he won’t be willing to hear more.

“Alright.” Eric’s voice betrays nothing. Controlled and flat.

“Do you—” Jack begins to ask, but stops himself, worried about forcing Eric to give an answer when he isn’t ready. If he’s learnt anything from this, it’s that sometimes it’s better to take the time to think of a response.

He needn’t have bothered. “Do I forgive you?” Eric finishes for him.

Jack sighs. “Yes.”

“I don’t know yet, Jack. I’m still annoyed at you. Really annoyed.”

“I understand.”

“You jumped to conclusions about me. You assumed, and you know I hate when people do that. I told you I wasn’t going to tell but you wouldn’t budge. You didn’t even try to talk things through, Jack, and I gave you the opportunities.”

“I know, I know,” Jack hangs his head. “I’m not good with words, and—”

“You are though. You are with me.”

Jack can’t refute that. Even he’s realised it’s true. He’s someone who struggles to articulate when it’s not about hockey, yet he’s sustained an entire relationship with Eric over the phone and texting.

“I like talking to you, Eric. I… I like you,” Jack says, putting as much emotion into the confession as he can.

Eric hums instead of replying again. Jack tries not to lose hope. “I assumed. I jumped to a conclusion that was driven by my anxiety, and I didn’t listen when you told me you wouldn’t tell. I can’t say anything more than I’m sorry.”

Jack finds himself once more with his happiness in Eric’s hands. This time at least he knows he’s done what he can for now to mend the rift between them. It’s a start, and something is better than nothing.

“I appreciate the apology. I’m still not… I experienced something about you that I didn’t know was there,” Eric confesses. “I’m still reconciling the idea that there’s _so_ _much_ about you I don’t know. It’s not just that you’re Jack Zimmermann. It’s… I don’t know how to express it. I guess it hit me that you’re a real person, with good parts and bad. Right now, I’m not sure which part is winning out.”

“So, do you still want… You know who I am now. We are—We were planning—" Jack stops, takes a breath, and retries. “Are we still going to meet up?”

Eric sighs. “I just said. I don’t know, Jack.”

“Alright. I’m sorry,” Jack feels like a broken record, but he’ll skip for eternity if that’s what it takes.

“I know. You’ve said that a lot tonight.”

“It’s been true every time.”

“Jack. I haven’t told anyone and I’m not going to tell anyone.”

“I know.”

Jack hears Eric breathing over the phone. It’s comforting, even as he stands in the dark, unknowing if tomorrow he’ll be able to wake with the knowledge he’ll have Eric in his future, or whether this is goodbye.

“I’m also not going to just leave you out to dry,” Eric says eventually, and Jack’s stomach tightens involuntarily. “I don’t know if I want to meet still, but when I figure that out, I’ll tell you. Either way. I _will_ let you know, Jack. I just need time. Can you give me that?”

“Yes. Yes, of course,” Jack agrees immediately, grateful to know today is not their end.

There’s a long stretch of silence. It builds between them. Jack can’t hang up even if it seems the appropriate thing to do. He’s desperate for as much of Eric as is being offered, because who knows when they’ll speak again? It will be up to Eric.

Jack can hear Eric breathing. There’s a catch to it that makes Jack think Eric’s building up to say something.

“Eric?” he asks gently, eventually, when his hands start to ache from gripping his phone so tightly.

“It’s different now,” Eric whispers, matching Jack’s tone. “That’s why I need more time.”

“What is?”

“With you being… you. I have to think through this whole thing differently.”

“I still don’t…” Jack trails off. Lost.

Eric sighs. “I thought my biggest worry was being stood up, or disappointing you when you saw me, or—There’s a whole other element now. You’re not just Jack, you’re Jack Zimmermann.”

“I, I am just Jack, though. I am with you.”

“Yes. But this changes things. You’re… you’re in magazines, and on TV. So are the people who are with you.”

Jack’s always hated the media side of job. At this moment he despises it. “I can’t… I can’t change that,” Jack says hopelessly.

“I know. I wouldn’t ask you to.” Jack nods though Eric can’t see him. It’s like George had said. He wouldn’t have grown so close to someone who would ask that of him. “I’m just telling you that I’ve got to start over again, re-think about meeting you. I’m telling you it may take a while.”

Jack waits again, reluctant to hang-up though Eric seems to have finished his piece.

Eric’s the one to end the call, offering Jack a short goodbye, to which Jack reaffirms Eric can take all the time he needs. As Jack looks at the time stamp on his phone, he knows it’s going to be uncomfortable waiting on Eric, knowing how his anxiety will play up around this. Thankfully, he likes Eric enough that he thinks, as long as he can remind himself of that, he’ll be fine.

-

It's hard. It’s so hard to essentially let Eric go. Jack knows it’s not forever, but when the next time they speak could potentially be to hear himself get rejected by the person he… Well.

Jack blames the late hour for what he’s doing. Looking Eric up on google to try and find something, anything, about him. Trouble is he has very limited information to go on. A first name, a potential nickname, and a home state. Nothing specific. He’s been at it for hours and all that’s left to Jack is trawling through the thousands of Eric’s on Facebook to try spot a face he’s never seen. He debates calling Kent and telling him what’s been happening. Kent’s always been techy. He could probably find Eric in a heartbeat.

He thunks his head down onto his keyboard and lets a string of letters type themselves into the search bar. At this rate, it’s probably going to be just as helpful as anything else Jack would think to type.

It isn’t.

Jack scrubs at his tired eyes, and settles his eyes on his clock.

01:15

01:16

01:17

He must fall asleep slumped there, because when he next opens his eyes it’s just past two am and his neck is stiff. He pushes his chair back with a groan and shuffles to the kitchen. Eyes half-shut with sleep, he puts the kettle on for a hot-water bottle and leans against the bench.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he asks himself.

The one thing Eric asked of him was time, and here Jack is not even a week later, stalking him and invading his privacy. Ineffectively, but still. This isn’t the kind of person Jack wants to be, nor the kind of relationship he wants to have.

He fills a hot water bottle and takes it back to bed, lying down with it beneath his neck. He’s not guilty, more annoyed with himself. At the same time though, Jack just wants to know Eric’s contactable in case Eric decides Jack Zimmermann is too much—blocks his calls and doesn’t bother getting back to him. Whatever Jack finds, he wouldn’t have to _use_ . If he hasn’t gotten back to Jack in a month, maybe, _maybe_ Jack would send him a Facebook message (if he manages to find the damn thing). It’s a backup, is all. After everything, Jack can’t just let Eric go.

-

Jack feels like he spends the following week—the second without hearing from Eric—on a see-saw, or a ship in rough waters. One second fine, the next anxious, checking his phone far more than he probably ever has in his life. He goes to bed with it beside him, volume all the way up just in case. He loses sleep to email notifications and his own brain getting stuck on the primary-school trick of ‘he loves me’, ‘he loves me not’, but instead of a flower losing a petal to every exclamation, it’s Jack losing a moment of his day, or the thread of his conversation, or yet another minute of sleep.

He regrets not taking his parents up on their offer of spending time with them during break. He looks up flights half a dozen times but always chickens out knowing that his parents will be able to pick up immediately that something is off. He’s even switched out skype calls from video to voice only to avoid the same thing.

Half the team are off holidaying with their families, or friends, but Jack could easily meet up with the few that remain. It’s the same reason holding him back though. If they’ve already noticed Jack has been spending more time on his phone, smiling more or whatever the giveaway was, there’s no way they’d miss this reversal back to a pre-Eric state. Jack’s noticing couples around him again, and it’s not with a sense of fondness that he sees them. People holding hands in public make him feel wistful and alone, and any PDA has him cringing away.

He only agrees to catch-up with Tater because he can tell from the increasing use of frowning emojis that he’s getting truly worried about Jack locking himself up in his apartment.

“You look shit.” Tater’s greeting is unapologetic, but after catching sight of himself in the hallway mirror Jack can’t fault the accuracy.

Jack picks up his gym bag from the hallway. “Let’s go.” Hopefully a session with Tater will knock the pessimistic thoughts of Eric out of his head.

Tater seems unwilling to let the issue go though. In the car, he frowns over at Jack on a red light. “You sleeping good? Under eyes are very dark.”

Jack shrugs and sighs, looking out the window, hoping a non-response will move the conversation on to other grounds.

As they drive to the stadium, Jack sees Tater taking his eyes of the road for dangerously long stretches of time, looking him over.

“We friends, Jack. Yes? You can tell me what is wrong.”

“Thanks, Tater.”

“No, no. Not suggestion. You tell me what is wrong, or else I not stop car.”

Jack looks over to Tater. “Come on. I’m fine.”

“Jack, please. I know you. You not fine.”

Jack rubs at his eyes. He _hasn’t_ been sleeping well. Without hockey to wear him out there’s only so much he can manage by himself to distract from Eric’s decision. It’s now the longest they’ve gone without communication since Eric went to visit his father after the heart attack. Every morning, he picks up his phone, expecting—hoping—to see a text. Every morning there’s nothing.

“Alright,” Jack admits, staring down into his lap.

Tater hums next to him, but doesn’t say anything.

“It’s about Eric—Bitty—from the phone line. He… found out who I am.”

Jack looks to Tater to see him frowning. As least he’s still looking at the road. “Thought you knew each other already?”

“No. Just first names. He overheard Marty using my last name. He follows hockey. He put it together.”

“Is this so bad? You always going to tell him eventually.”

“Not this way. Not…” Jack exhales harshly. “He’s not talking to me.”

“Ah,” Tater says, stopping at a red light and turning to look at Jack. Tater’s face has always been a very open book and it’s not hard to see the concern there. It should comfort Jack but it makes him feel unsettled. He’s never liked to cry in front of people, even his parents, and he feels the irritation behind his eyes that tells him he might.

“Green light,” he tells Tater, shifting in his seat uncomfortably.

“Why isn’t he talking to you? Surely, knowing who you really are is good? I do not understand.”

“If I was anyone else it would be,” Jack says grumpily, his hatred of being ‘known’ to the media festering since Eric made the point of talking about it in their phonecall.

“Oh. The fame? Is issue?”

Jack would scoff at the fame comment but he can’t because to Eric he is famous enough that it makes a difference.

“Eric said to give him time to think it over.”

“How long has been?”

“Three weeks.” Two weeks and four days, but it’s neurotic enough that Jack knows that, he doesn’t have to admit it no-matter how much Tater would understand.

“Not too long then. I think you worry too much. He asked for time, you giving him.”

They’re very nearly at the rink. Jack finds himself wishing the trip were longer. He’s not really spoken to anyone about this—only George—and though every sentence is a confession sharp as glass, it’s helping him find clarity.

“You’re right,” Jack tells Tater. “I don’t… I’m not very patient.”

“Not true.”

Jack sends a disbelieving look to Tater.

“You _are_ patient. Just also persistent.” Tater parks and undoes his seatbelt but doesn’t get out the car. He turns to face Jack and reaches a long limb across the centre console to place his hand on Jack’s shoulder.

“These weeks hard for you because you are man who likes doing. You make decision, you do thing. You work and work at something; at getting to know someone, new move on ice. This one time in life, the—What phrase is it about balls and courts?”

“The ball is in my court?”

Tater slaps his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Yes. That. But in this case, no. Ball not in your court. Is in Eric’s. That’s why you not feel fine.”

Jack nods, aware that he’s willingly relinquished the fate of their relationship to Eric.

Tater leaves Jack to his thoughts as they make their way to the training room and start jogging on treadmills beside each other.

“I called—I shouldn’t have, but I called the phone line the other day,” Jack confesses to Tater after a few minutes. Recalling his lowest moment from his past week, he feels ashamed. He can trust Tater with the whole truth though, and he’s hoping that Tater can offer a perspective different from his own on something he found out. He’s been getting stuck on one train of thought with a lot of things to do with Eric. George showed him another way to look at it once, and now maybe Tater can.

Tater lowers the speed on his treadmill a few notches and looks over to Jack.

“I just wanted… I don’t know.” Jack shrugs. “They told me he doesn’t work there anymore.”

Tater hums. “Maybe is good thing?”

“How do you mean?” Jack asks, lowering the speed on his own machine.

“Maybe Eric is leaving because he want to be just with you.”

Jack stops his treadmill completely. He was right. Tater just offered him a way of looking at it he hadn’t thought of.

“He never said,” Jack frowns, picking up a towel to wipe the sweat from his face and neck. “I didn’t—I never asked him to do that.”

Tater shrugs, following Jack away from the treadmills. “But that decision is for Eric. Is not yours.”

Jack thinks about Tater’s words as he showers. After drying off and changing into comfortable clothing he takes his phone out, lighting up the home-screen habitually. Still no message from Eric. This time though, there’s no uncomfortable swoop in his stomach.

Tater got it right earlier. It’s scary for Jack because he has no control over Eric’s response. For better or worse, who he is and what he wants is out there in the palm of someone else. Jack has to trust Eric.

It doesn’t take him long once he looks at it that way to realise he does.

-

Jack has been meeting up with Tater regularly since the day of the car intervention. It’s why the phone call this afternoon doesn’t seem odd to Jack at first.

“You busy?” Tater asks him.

“Not particularly. Why?” Jack asks, pulling clothes out of his dryer.

“You need to come to rink, please. Very important.”

Jack stops what he’s doing and frowns. He’s just spent the morning there with Tater. He can’t pick up any clues from Tater’s voice about what the situation is. Still, he has an uncomfortable feeling in his gut.

“Okay.” Jack leaves his clothes where they are, speed walking to his front door and pulling his shoes on one-handed. “You alright? What’s going on?”

“Yes, am alright. But you are coming?”

“Yeah, course. Just getting in the car now.” Jack switches the phone to speaker and puts it in the holder before starting the ignition. “I’m a little worried about you though.”

“No, no. No worry. This not bad thing. I think,” Tater pauses, before resuming in a whisper, “I think this very, very good thing.”

Despite the words, Jack is not reassured and pushes through the next yellow light well over the speed-limit. “I’m about fifteen minutes away.”

“Come to players’ lounge when here. I hang up now.”

“Tater, wait,” Jack tries to get him to stay on the line but Tater has already gone.

He has a bad feeling the entire drive to the rink and has to switch off the radio which was proving a source of annoyance. He parks in the closest spot he can and rushes out the car, pointing the clicker over his shoulder to lock it.

He’s puffing lightly as he swipes himself into the players’ area and jogs to meet Tater. He doesn’t know what he’s walking into and he’s not great with uncertainty. He’s never been more aware of that fact of his personality as in these past weeks.

The lounge is empty except for two figures on one of the several blue couches. Jack pulls out of his jog and halts a few feet into the room. Tater is talking to a blond man. Jack can only see the back of his head, but he knows it isn’t anyone from the team or management. He doesn’t think Tater has ever mentioned a friend who it could be.

Still, Jack has the strangest feeling. A sort of wave of déjà vu that causes his palms to tingle.

Tater leans in to say something to the blond that Jack can’t catch, then he’s standing up and making his way over.

“Good. You are here.”

“Of course,” Jack says, trying to look past Tater’s large frame to the person on the couch, feeling their identity on the tip of his tongue.

“I go to George’s office now.”

Jack focusses his attention back on Tater. “Wait. What? Who is that? Why are you leaving?”

Tater looks over his shoulder to where the blond is still sitting with his back to Jack. When he turns back, he has a knowing smile on his face.

“I let him tell you that.”

Tater clasps Jack’s arm before leaving. The door shuts audibly behind him and Jack’s alone in the room with a stranger.

He swallows and takes a step toward the occupied couch.

Unsure whether the man knows they are now alone, he clears his throat and says a monotone, “Uh, hi.”

The man tenses visibly, but a few second later gets up off the couch and turns to Jack.

If it was déjà vu before, Jack isn’t sure how to describe what he feels when he finally sees the man’s face. It’s like reliving a dream. Realistically, he knows he’s never seen this person, but there’s something in the eyes that Jack feels familiar with.

“Hey, Jack.”

Realisation sinks fast.

That voice. It’s not the eyes Jack knew, it’s the voice.

He can’t find his though, so he settles for taking another step forward, hands twitching at his sides like they want to reach out. His eyes are moving too fast to take anything in and he has to force them shut while he counts to three.

“Eric?” he asks, opening them again.

The man in front of him nods. With the confirmation, Jack really _looks_ at Eric. He’s a touch taller than Jack had been picturing, and more muscled too, but aside from that, it really is like something from a dream. Messy blond hair and faint freckles and warm brown eyes. He’s wearing dark jeans, white shirt and a blue-hoodie, the zipper of which he fiddles with as he stands staring at Jack.

“You’re really Eric?” Jack has to ask again.

The zipper continues up-down-up-down, but the voice is sure when he replies, “Yes.”

“What are—" Jack can’t even think straight, eyes still moving over Eric, from the curl of his fringe down to his converse. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to answer your question.”

 

Jack has to think for a second what his question was, and then he remembers and has to sit down. He takes Tater’s vacated spot and Eric takes his again.

Jack notices a large backpack on the floor. “Yours?” He asks Eric, because his brain is working on short-circuitry and he’s not thinking conversation through like he normally does.

Eric looks over to the bag. “Yeah. I came straight here.”

“Where from?” Jack asks again with little thought. If he weren’t with someone, he’d probably slap himself for how far he’s taken them away from the reason Eric is here, in the flesh, in front of him. To give him the answer he’s been desperate to know for weeks.

“Oh, I guess we never said.”

Jack shakes his head at Eric.

Eric smiles and there’s something bashful in it. “I’m actually at Samwell University.”

“That’s forty minutes away,” Jack says in surprise, remembering a comment his mother made after he signed with The Falconers. All this time, they’ve been so close. They could have… Well, they couldn’t have met earlier—shouldn’t have—because all that has happened needed to happen before that.

“Why come now?” Jack asks, following on from his train of thought.

Eric turns away before he answers, and Jack watches as his eyes track around the room, halting randomly so Jack can’t tell if he’s really seeing it or not.

“It’s like I said,” Eric begins slowly, still looking away from Jack. Jack doesn’t mind the lack of eye-contact. It means he can look over Eric’s profile without blushing at being caught. His eyelashes are so lightly coloured that it’s hard to catch them, but they’re long and straight. His nose slopes up at the end and Jack fixates on it. He never considered to really think about Eric’s nose when he’d been imagining him all these months.

“I needed to think about it all—really think about it—because I like you very much.” Jack’s heart skips uncomfortably. “I knew that being in a relationship with you would be tricky, and that was even before I found out that—Well,” Eric looks to Jack with a wry smile on his face and gestures around the room.

“Sorry,” Jack says immediately, hating that he added complication to an already complicated situation.

“Hey, no.” Eric reaches across the couch cushion to drop his hand onto Jack’s. The warmth of it is startling. Jack thinks he should have expected it with Eric’s personality.

Eric ducks his head and Jack raises his eyes from where they’d dropped down to stare at their joined hands.

“This is who you are, Jack. No need to apologise.”

“Alright,” Jack whispers, and looks back down at their hands a moment before flipping his palm up and manoeuvring it so he can slot his fingers between Eric’s. He does it slow, feeling every callous on Eric’s hand and giving him the time to draw away. He doesn’t. When Jack looks up, Eric’s cheeks have gone ruddy with blush.

Eric clears his throat and gives Jack’s hand a gentle squeeze before continuing. “We were already contending with long distance.”

“Forty minutes isn’t that far,” Jack has to say.

Eric sighs. “I know. That was my first thought too.”

“But?” Jack prompts, sensing the something else on the tip of Eric’s tongue.

Eric sighs. “But I’m studying full time. I have classes and exams and assessments I can’t miss. And you play in the NHL. That’s full time too. Training and games, and you’re away from Providence as much as you’re here.”

Jack can’t refute it like he’s dying to. He doesn’t like Eric sounding so forlorn. He grips Eric’s hand tighter and says, “We’ve done fine so far.”

Eric, thankfully, looks to him and smiles. Heat spreads down Jack’s torso. “We have,” Eric says softly, and maybe if Jack were a different person this would be where he would kiss Eric.

Instead, the moment passes and Eric continues, “I haven’t even touched on your fame yet.”

“I’ve probably thought of all the scenarios surrounding that already,” Jack confesses, knowing it to be true.

Eric nods at Jack. “Yeah.” He shuffles himself a little toward Jack on the couch, and Jack gives Eric time to look him over. Eric’s eyes flit over Jack’s arms, torso, their still joined hands, his hairline. Jack doesn’t find it disconcerting in the slightest, and eventually, does the same, picking up on all those little blemishes that make Eric real. A burn on one of his wrists, the trio of dark freckles near his right ear, the sharpness of his collar bones, the stray dark hairs among the blond on his head.

“Can I ask a question?” Jack interrupts eventually.

Eric brings his eyes back up to Jack’s face. “Sure, but I might not answer.”

“What made you change your mind?”

Eric cocks his head. “Change my mind?”

“Well,” Jack hesitates over wording it. “When you first pieced together I was… _me_ , you stopped talking to me. I assumed it meant you... But now you’re here.” Jack says the final line with possibly too much relief for their first meeting. It’s hard to keep a lid on it, he feels like a live wire in Eric’s presence. Months of hidden feelings and thoughts pressing up against his skin.

“Haven’t we talked about the danger of assumptions, you and I?” Eric asks coyly. He brings Jack’s hand up between them, and spreads Jack’s fingers out, fitting his palm against Jack’s when it’s flat.

Jack watches him, transfixed, and reminds himself to breathe. “We have.”

“I never hated you, Jack, if that’s what you thought. It was just a lot to take in.”

“So, what made you… take it in?” Jack’s brain is cloudy. Where his body is sparking at every place Eric touches or looks, a swampy calm has settled over his mind, like how lying in the sun for a minute too long makes you feel.

Eric plays with Jack’s fingers for a moment longer, then drops his hand only to pick up the other one and do it all over again.

“I wrote a list,” Eric says eventually, then amends, “I wrote _several_ lists.”

“Oh.” Jack hadn’t expected something so methodical from Eric, though it’s something he himself has done. “What were the lists?”

“Pros and cons of dating Jack.”

Dating. Jack smiles though he knows it’s still yards ahead to latch onto that word. This is their first time meeting face to face after all.

“Why several? That sounds like just one topic.”

Eric drops Jack’s hand and fixes his gaze on Jack. “They kept coming out different,” he says with some irritation, though Jack’s not sure to what or who it’s directed

“Oh.” Jack isn’t sure if he should take anything from it, or maybe apologise. Eric’s here now in front of Jack, yet he’s essentially telling him that the cons sometimes outweighed the pros.

“It changed morning or night, weekday versus weekend, if I was tired or… Anyway,” Eric waves his hands in front of his face. “They were different, but they all told me the same thing.”

Jack can’t hide his confusion. “How?”

“Because every time I ended up with more cons, I felt sick. Every time I had more pros,” Eric smiles and Jack feels a wash of heat again through his body, “I felt so fucking happy.”

“I—”

“So my answer is yes.”

Jack can’t even think of how to reply. Does he do what his heart’s telling him? His head? His gut? “I felt… horrible, every day waiting for you to get back to me, but, but…” Jack doesn’t even know what he’s saying. It’s just feelings coming out. “I knew it was worth it for the possibility—For this exact moment. And now I feel…”

Jack doesn’t know. He presses his hands to his stomach and still doesn’t know. There’s too much for him to pick apart now.

“Fucking happy?” Eric suggest with a beautiful laugh and shining eyes.

Jack nods and then laughs. “Yes. Fucking happy.”

-

They hold hands and never stop staring at one another and talk until an alarm goes off on Eric’s phone.

Eric turns it off and sighs.

“All good?” Jack asks.

“Yeah. It’s just, I’ve got to leave. I’m getting a train back tonight.”

Jack frowns at that. They’ve only just connected. He can’t say goodbye this soon.

“Don’t.” Jack eyes the bag and thinks it’s a little big for a daypack. Maybe Eric doesn’t really want to leave?

Eric raises his eyebrows at Jack.

“What I meant was… Stay?” Jack tries again. He doesn’t want a goodbye yet, though they’ve already had an entire afternoon. “We can have dinner. It’ll be… It’ll be our first date.”

Jack smiles hopefully at Eric and he doesn’t have to wait long at all before Eric smiles back at him and the room gets a little bit brighter for it.

“I’d like that, Jack. I really would.”

Jack’s heart has seconds to expand hopefully before Eric continues with a heavy sigh.

“But I probably shouldn’t.”

“What. No,” Jack protests. “Why?”

Bitty takes Jack’s hand. He’s done it so much this afternoon Jack feels he should be used to it, but it’s a thrill every time. “I’m just being… sensible.”

Jack wouldn’t have called coming up to Providence on a whim sensible, and Eric seems to realise it too because he gives a short laugh and looks to Jack like he knows what he’s thinking.

“We’ve known each other for months, yes, but I’ve only just _met_ you, and also—” Eric drops his gaze to Jack’s lips before looking away. He shakes his head and says, “Never mind. I just think it would be best if I didn’t stay. Not tonight.”

“Not even for dinner?” Jack asks, already preparing himself to part for the night, not wanting to push Eric.

Eric considers it a moment but shakes his head.

“If I stay for dinner…” he trails off and leaves Jack guessing at what his sentence could be. If his own feelings are any indication, the worry is that Eric will never leave. He doesn’t think that would be a bad thing, but he knows Eric is right. They shouldn’t spend the night together after only meeting face-to-face once.

“That’s okay,” Jack says, and hopes Eric can tell how much he means it. “Don’t take the train though. I’ll pay for a cab, or an uber.”

“You’ll be setting a dangerous precedent, Jack.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, it’s just…” Eric looks away again then says in a small voice, “You know, you’ve been paying for everything in this relationship so far.”

“But there were contextual factors,” Jack points out.

Eric sighs. “I know, I know. But I just—

“Eric,” Jack stops him by tugging gently on their still clasped hands. “You promised you wouldn’t feel beholden to me on this.”

“I promised I wouldn’t about the money you paid me when I was visiting my dad in hospital,” Eric delivers with a wry look.

“Okay. Well, what if our positions were reversed. If you made nine million a year, easily, and had no-one to spend it on but yourself—”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Eric,” Jack says with some exasperation (only some as Eric’s stubbornness is one of the reasons he likes him so much). “Wouldn’t you want to—Wouldn’t you happily spend some on a person who you cared for?”

Eric’s eyes close for a moment. “I would,” he whispers.

Jack drops his arms. “That’s what I’m doing.”

-

Jack doesn’t walk outside with Eric. It may be off-season, but that doesn’t mean the media is sleeping. With everything essentially starting between them, he doesn’t want to put more pressure on himself and Eric than that which already comes with starting a new relationship. He guides Eric to the main foyer and thinks about kissing him farewell the whole way. He settles for a wave, and Eric holds himself poised like he’s going in for a hug, but the moment passes and he’s stepping out the front doors with a promise to call Jack when he gets back to Samwell.

Jack doesn’t mean to stand staring at the door for minutes after Eric leaves, but that’s what he does. Stares and thinks. As far as first meetings go, it wasn’t a mess. It also went like nothing Jack had prepared for, mostly as he hadn’t prepared at all. A phone-call he could have handled with some semblance of togetherness. It’s what they’ve done so far. It’s what he’s used to between them. Eric surprised him today.

Jack shivers and realises he’s gotten cold in the air-con of the building. Tater is asleep on George’s couch when Jack goes to find him. Jack wakes him from a distance with a ruler from George’s desk. Tater flails on being woken and Jack calmly puts the ruler back in place.

“Hey,” he greets. A mere syllable with minimal emotional input.

“It go well with Eric?” Tater guesses anyhow, smiling knowingly at Jack.

Jack nods, then keeps nodding.

“Knew it. He already look in deep love with you before you got there.”

Jack brushes the ‘love’ comment away with a shrug but his heart warms anyway.

Tater stands and stretches. “He still here?”

“No. Gone back.”

“Oh no. Why?” Tater says with more outrage than Jack was expecting. He blinks up at Tater in surprise. “I thought went well? He should be with you tonight.”

“I asked, but we only saw each other for the first time today. It makes sense not to rush things.”

Tater sighs, but nods and leans by Jack against George’s desk.

“Anyway, it gives me time to think about… everything,” Jack says heavily. “I mean… He’s _real_ , Tater. That sounds stupid, but seeing him, talking to him, touching him…” Jack closes his eyes to picture the moments they had this afternoon. “I’ve wanted that—that _connection_ to someone for months. I think I’ve found it.”

Tater leans into him, beaming. “Happy for you.”

-

Jack is absentmindedly flicking through channels on the tv that evening when he gets a phone call from Eric.

“Hello,” he answers eagerly, muting the television.

“Hi. You wanted me to let you know when I got home. So, yes. I’m back safe. Thank you again for paying.”

“Seriously, don’t mention it.”

“I feel like I have to. I spent the entire ride feeling so guilty about turning down your offer for dinner. I almost asked the driver to turn back actually.”

Jack’s heart flips over knowing one moment backtrack and Eric could have been in his arms tonight.

“Anyway, I was thinking...” Eric continues after pausing for breath. “Would you like to Skype?”

“What, now?”

“Yeah. Now. We can have dinner together still. It’s maybe a little strange, but—”

“No. That sounds amazing. I’d really—” Jack bites his tongue.

“Jack?”

He shakes his head. “Sorry. I was going to say I’d love to look at you some more, but I thought... Is that strange to admit?”

Eric laughs. “Not at all. I know what you mean. It’s all new and exciting to actually look at your face when we’re talking.”

There’s a thud from Eric’s end and a muttered expletive.

“You alright?” Jack asks, worry flaring.

“Oh yeah. I’m just trying to unlock the front door while on the phone and my bag slipped. I was, uh, a little eager in calling you. I’m home, but I’m not inside.”

Jack smiles. He imagines he would have done the same if their situations were reversed. “I don’t mind.”

“Shoot. I’m gonna have to hang-up. I don’t think anyone’s home.”

“Alright,” Jack says easily.

“Oh! I didn’t, I didn’t say that to imply we should—” Eric rushes

“It’s fine. I get it.”

Eric exhales loudly. “Thanks, honey. I gotta hang up to get the damn door open but I’ll text you my Skype info and see you soon.”

“Sounds great,” Jack says, but Eric’s already hung up.

Jack looks down at what he’s wearing. Although Eric has seen him in this exact outfit only hours earlier, he feels the need to dress-up a little. He’s not sure tonight could be considered a first date, but if it is, he wants to make a good impression, and giving himself something to do will keep nerves at bay for a little longer. He switches out of the t-shirt into a button up shirt his mother gave him last Christmas and tries to order his hair. He takes his laptop out to the kitchen island and plugs it in, opening Skype up and going back to the couch where Eric’s text awaits him.

He’s online first, but thankfully not long enough that his nerves get to build into anything uncomfortable. The little green button appears next to Eric’s name within a few minutes and the call comes in the same second. Jack presses it and immediately Bitty’s face is on his screen. He’s got earphones plugged in and like Jack, has changed his outfit. He looks amazing.

“Hi,” Eric greets with a little wave.

“Hey,” Jack says, feeling himself grinning easily.

They Skype until well past Jack’s regular bed time, until they’re both yawning every other minute and Eric’s carried his laptop over to his bed so he can lie down.

Jack is glad pre-season training hasn’t started up yet, because it makes it easy to plan for their first real face-to-face date. He spares a moment of thought to how hard it’s going to be when the season picks up again, but then focuses back on the present. Eric’s on holidays and is staying at Samwell for his new job in local café. When he logs out of Skype that night, he’s got a promise from Eric he’ll call again tomorrow night, plus a reminder in his calendar that Eric is coming over for dinner on Friday. He sleeps better than he has in the past month.

-

“Maybe we should go into separate rooms and call each other,” Eric suggests.

Jack stands up to oblige Eric.

“Where are you going?”

“To a different room,” Jack points out to Eric.

Eric smiles at Jack with incredulity in his eyes. He laughs and stands up. “It wasn’t a serious suggestion,” he says, making his way over to Jack. “Besides, if you were in a different room, then I couldn’t do this.”

Eric reaches a hand out for Jack’s arm. The first contact is immediately charged, though all Eric does is curl his palm loosely at Jack’s wrist. Jack watches as he slowly moves it up his arm, warmth left behind where Eric has touched. His breathing is shallow but to his ears incredibly loud. Eric stops his hand at Jack’s shoulder, and looks into Jack’s eyes.

The gaze has a similar tangibility, and Jack swallows hard. In Eric’s eyes, he can see too many things to catalogue. Softness, desire, hesitance, awe. Perhaps he’s projecting.

Eric moves his hand to rest flat on Jack’s chest.

“Your heart is racing,” Eric says in wonder.

“You’re touching me,” Jack replies.

Eric makes a small noise in his throat, then looks up to Jack and says, “You can touch me too.”

Jack imagines himself lifting his hand to Eric, but he feels it shaky against his leg and doesn’t want to move it for fear of judgement. Eric watches him, waiting, until Jack finds the courage to bring his fingers up to push through Eric’s hair. The curls are thick, and soft, and move with Jack’s fingers as he cradles Eric’s head. It probably isn’t the kind of touch Eric was anticipating, but he doesn’t seem to mind, his eyes fluttering closed as Jack repeats the movement.

Several times over, Jack traces his fingers through Eric’s hair before feeling steady enough to move his hand to Eric’s cheek—blushing and warm—and push his thumb out to touch the corner of Eric’s lips. Eric’s eyes open then and his gaze is immediately on Jack. Without breaking their stare, he turns his head slightly, slowly, to kiss the pad of Jack’s thumb. Jack shivers, a bolt of heat coursing through him.

Eric’s hand moves from his chest up to his face and with it, he pulls Jack down for their first kiss.

It’s strange kissing someone after you’ve spent months imagining it, Jack reflects. He’d built up an anthology of faux-memories about this. He’s going to have to revisit them all with the new knowledge of the smoothness of Eric’s lips and the soft pressure of them against his own.

They hold together for moments until Jack needs to pull back to breathe. He can’t help to look at Eric’s lips, and then kiss them again a moment later. Jack sighs in pleasure and relief and he can feel Eric smiling gently against his lips.

He pulls back and drops his hand, but finds himself moving back in for another kiss without consciously thinking about it. Eric is addictive. His kisses so sweet and so warm. Jack moves his lips against Eric’s and Eric’s fingers move to the back of his neck, pulling him tighter. Jack finds his hands on Eric’s back, and can feel the ridge of his spine beneath his fingers. He’s so real, and Jack slips a hand beneath Eric’s shirt to feel that tangible, human heat.

Eric pushes himself harshly against Jack, and sucks his bottom lip in. Jack’s front is burning with the heat between his and Eric’s body, and he can feel himself growing hard. His hands spread across Eric’s back to hold him in place, tug him in even tighter. Eric shoves a thigh between Jack’s legs and tangles a hand in his hair, gripping tight enough there’s a little pain. Jack moves, rocking against Eric, who’s got a hand resting on the curve of Jack’s ass.

It’s when Jack groans aloud as Eric bites at his lip that he has the presence of mind to pull back. He breathes harshly, not wanting to let go of Eric, but moves his hand from beneath his shirt to put some kind of layer back between them.

“Sorry, sorry,” Jack gasps.

“What the hell for?” Eric pants, his grip tightening in Jack’s hair and angling his face so he can kiss his jaw and the side of his neck.

Jack tilts his head, forgetting his thoughts as Eric kisses upwards until he’s breathing against Jack’s ear.

He shivers, and takes a step back, still keeping his hands on Eric’s back. “You wanted to take things slow,” he reminds Eric with a weak, breathy voice.

“Oh. Yeah,” Eric says, still kissing Jack’s neck. “I did. I do.”

Eric pulls away and blinks rapidly. He’s pink-cheeked and breathing heavily. Jack refrains from looking down to see whether Eric is as affected by their making-out as Jack is.

Jack drops his hands from Eric and forces himself to take another step away.

Eric presses his hand over his heart. “Damn. My heart’s going as fast as yours.”

Jack wants to reach out and see for himself, but touching Eric now wouldn’t be good for his self-control. Instead, he pushes back the hair that’s fallen onto his forehead and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Should we finish dinner?”

Eric looks at Jack for a moment, hand still on his heart, fingers tapping on his chest in time. Jack can recognise the look in Eric’s eyes, and he’s on the verge of saying screw it and taking Eric to his bedroom but Eric gathers himself together.

“Yes. We should. I’m just going to the bathroom for a second. Be right back.”

Jack remains tense even after Eric’s out of sight in the guest bathroom. He goes to the table and pours himself a glass of water to help cool off. He’s not entirely sure what happened—how he could go from zero to one hundred in the blink of an eye. He’s never had that reaction with anyone before and doesn’t know yet whether it’s good or bad. He dips his hand into his water glass to splash his face, reminding himself that he and Eric agreed to take it slow. He’s being sensible. He’s sticking to their word.

He's still hard, and his skin is still buzzing, though without Eric in the room it’s easy to remember why they decided on not rushing. Well, _easier_. His brain is reeling and body is still wound-tight at not having a proper release for the tension it built up.

Jack’s so on edge he jumps when his phone rings. He grabs it from the kitchen bench and is surprised to see Eric’s name on it.

“Hello?” He answers hesitantly, looking down the corridor to where the bathroom is.

Eric is breathing harshly down the line. Jack frowns and steps into the hallway.

“I thought I could kick myself out of it but if I go out there now I’m going to strip you down and put my mouth all over you until you’re whimpering my name,” Eric says quick and rough.

Jack’s knees buckle and he presses a hand into the wall to keep from falling. He has no idea what to say to that. The small bit of blood left in his brain has gone somewhere lower.

“Why wait now?” Eric continues, sounding like he’s verbalising an internal monologue. “We’ve known each other for months now, really. Right? We’re adults. And we’ve had sex before, so why—I know the context was a little different—So why hold back now?”

Jack takes an unsteady step down the hall to the bathroom, listening to Eric talk in a muddle of words. Jack’s pulse is racing, mouth is dry, neck sticky already with sweat from just their earlier making out.

“Fuck. Jack. Tell me if I’m totally over-the-line, but… I could _feel_ you when we were kissing earlier. You want to too. Don’t you?”

“Open the door,” Jack says roughly.

Eric opens the door to the bathroom and Jack’s there standing in front of it. Eric’s skin is flushed red, his hair looks more dishevelled than just Jack’s hands through it had achieved earlier. Jack can see his chest rising and falling and hear the sound both in the flesh, and distorted through the phone he’s still holding to his ear.

There’s a tension between them, sticky and hot and trembling. There’s still the chance to back out.

Jack hangs up his phone, and drops it to the floor. Eric follows suit.

The tension breaks.

Eric crashes into Jack’s chest, his fingers looping into his shirt to yank them together. Jack hoists Eric’s leg up around his waist immediately and then bends to pick him up, fingers pressing greedily into his thighs while Eric wraps his legs tight around Jack. Thankfully, Jack’s bedroom is the next door down. He doesn’t think he could concentrate on carrying Eric and manoeuvring them with the fierce way Eric’s kissing him, encouraging Jack’s lips onto his own, sucking and tasting and moving with a franticness that has Jack pushing him harshly against the wall of his room as soon as they’re inside so he can use his hands to strip Eric of his shirt.

“You really could fuck me against a wall,” Eric gasps, fingers working to unbutton Jack’s shirt as Jack wraps his hands back under Eric’s thighs, and hoists him up again so he can thrust them together.

“What do you want?” Jack asks, helping Eric get his shirt off. “I want to do what you want tonight.”

Eric grins at Jack and grabs him roughly by the cheeks to pull him in for a kiss.

“We’ll save fucking against the wall for later. I want to watch you come,” Eric says wickedly. “I’ve heard it so many times, imagined it so many more. Jack. I want to see your face. Up close.”

Jack shifts his hands to Eric’s ass and moves them to the bed, laying Eric as gently as he can manage at the moment and stripping off the rest of his own clothing. He keeps his eyes on Eric and can’t help but feel satisfaction as Eric looks over him with obvious approval.

“Look all you want,” Jack whispers, settling himself over Eric, knees between Eric’s legs on the bed.

Eric’s hands glide over his chest, pressing here and there and causing his stomach muscles to tighten every time he hits on a sensitive spot.

“Gorgeous,” Eric whispers up to Jack, before pulling Jack down by his shoulders and kissing him, using his tongue to open Jack’s mouth so he can taste inside.

Eric smiles—Jack can feel it against his mouth—and brings a leg up to push Jack over onto his side, then to his back. Eric straddles him, sitting on his thighs, hands pressing down on Jack’s chest with surprising strength.

Eric’s eyes travel over his body. Jack would consider feeling self-conscious, except he’s got his own view to appreciate. Eric is so damn attractive. He may be smaller than Jack, but he’s just as muscled. His freckles scatter not only his shoulders, but down his torso as well. He’s still got his pants on, but Jack can see where his dick is straining against the fabric of his jeans.

“So incredible,” Eric says, eyes still dancing over Jack.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t have to sound so cocky,” Eric says, moving one of his hands torturously close to Jack’s dick. “You get paid to work out.”

“I’d probably do it if I wasn’t.”

Eric rolls his eyes. “Shut up,” he says, and wraps his hand finally around Jack’s dick.

Whatever Jack was about to say dies on his tongue and transforms into a low groan that has him closing his eyes in bliss as Eric moves his hand slowly up and down. Eric does it a couple of times before taking his hand away.

Jack opens his eyes. “Why’d you stop?”

Eric gives him a sultry look and slowly unbuttons and unzips his jeans.

“Oh.” Jack sits up to kiss Eric. “Great idea,” he says against his lips.

“I know.”

When Eric is naked, he encourages Jack into sitting against the headboard with kisses and playful shoves in equal measure. Jack finds himself laughing at Eric’s eagerness. He tries to get his hands on Eric where he can, pressing into his sides to feel the in and out of his lungs, or fingers through his hair to make him stay put so Jack can kiss him for longer than a few seconds. When Eric has him where he wants him, he re-straddles Jack and wraps a hand around him.

Jack would love to thrust up into Eric’s curled first, but Eric’s got his full weight trapping Jack’s thighs and he’s a slave to whatever Eric wants to do. He did say tonight was about doing what Eric wants though, so though it causes him to groan and moan as Eric pulls him closer and closer to climax but never all the way, he lets it all happen. It isn’t like he isn’t enjoying himself. Once he manages to fumble for his lube and pass it to Eric, it gets even better. He anchors his hands in Eric’s hair, and pulls him in so he can kiss him and kiss him, still trying to thrust into Eric’s fist and still getting no-where. He pours everything he’s feeling into his kiss and moves his lips over Eric’s jaw, down to his neck, until his brain’s so scrambled with stimuli he’s only panting, lips grazing Eric’s skin sporadically and he twitches with every rush of pleasure through his body.

Eric tugs Jack’s hair to angle his head back. “Wanted to see you, remember?” Eric reminds him, managing to smile cheekily.

Jack nods jerkily and goes easily when Eric pushes at his chest. He slumps into the pillows behind him, closing his eyes. It’s too much to see Eric right now, looking so incredible with his glistening skin and fiery eyes.

“Close, Eric. Fuck. I’m close,” Jack warns.

“What do you need?” Eric asks.

“Tighter,” Jack grunts.

Eric’s grip tightens and Jack whimpers with how good it feels. He’s already hot, but as another wave of warmth starts building from his toes he knows he’s close. Eric must be able to pick up on something too, because he says, “Open your eyes.”

Jack does. Eric grips him firmer and stares with blazing intensity at him and Jack’s gone, coming hard and long and with Eric’s name on his lips.

Eric works him through it. Jack can feel his eyes on Jack the whole time though he’s screwed his eyes shut in pleasure.

Jack doesn’t have a chance to catch his breath before Eric’s dragging himself impossibly closer to Jack, hands on the headboard either side of Jack’s head.

Jack leans his head back, to see Eric’s face above him, thrown back in bliss. He ruts himself hard against Jack’s stomach, using the come on Jack’s chest for lube.

“Eric,” Jack can’t help to say in total wonder. He feels weary from his orgasm, but seeing Eric unabashed above him, like some damn angel from above, his hair glinting in the harsh bedroom light, has his libido cresting again. He gets his hands on Eric’s ass, encouraging his movements.

Eric’s letting out puffs of air, whimpers and little voiced moans that sounds so much better in the flesh than over the phone.

“Fuck, fuck,” Eric whimpers, shifting a hand off the headboard to grip Jack’s hair. “Jack. You—” he looks down at Jack from above, face slack with bliss, then leans in to kiss him with messy enthusiasm.

“Jack, Jack,” Eric chants against his lips. “I—”

He keeps kissing Jack through his orgasm. Jack feels Eric shudder between them, and a new warmth spreads on his stomach as Eric’s mess joins his own.

Eric’s mouth slackens against his while he sucks in deep breaths. Jack kisses Eric’s mouth and cheeks—not able to move much more than that—until Eric’s hand drops from his hair and he pushes himself off Jack and to the side.

It’s all Jack can do to breathe and look over to Eric.

“Next time, we’ll take a little longer, eh”

Eric laughs weakly and shoves at him. Jack leans over to kiss his cheek and Eric turns his head to get Jack on the lips.

Eventually, the come on his skin starts bothering him and Jack shuffles into the ensuite to grab a cloth to clean himself off with. He brings one back for Eric too. Eric looks completely spent, but his eyes follow Jack with interest as he gets back on the bed, and Jack kisses him again as thoroughly as he can before resettling beside him.

“So, what’s next for us?” Jack asks after throwing the used cloths in his washing hamper and dragging himself and Eric under the covers. They lie face to face with their legs tangled together. It’s a little too hot but Jack doesn’t want to change it.

Eric hums and snuggles down into the pillow, eyes slipping shut. “Sleep, and in the morning I’ll raid your kitchen and make breakfast. Then we can do whatever we feel like tomorrow s’long as it’s together.”

Jack kisses Eric on the forehead. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

“Jack?” Eric opens his eyes. “I know it wasn’t. It’s our first night together. Let’s talk about it later.”

Jack sighs out and lets go of his worries for the night. He wraps an arm around Eric and moves closer. Eric kisses his chest softly and tucks his hands up between them.

“Goodnight Jack. Sleep tight,” he whispers.

Jack does.

-

Jack wakes first, his body defaulting to routine despite the exertion of last night. Eric has rolled away from him during the night—or maybe he was the one who moved—and is now lying with his back to Jack on the edge of the mattress. His head is almost entirely tucked into the blanket but a shock of blond hair spills out across Jack’s pillow. He smiles to himself and moves back closer to Eric, wrapping his arm once more around his waist and spooning him.

He falls back to sleep easily, and the next time he wakes up it’s because Eric is turning himself around in Jack’s arms.

“Hey,” Jack greets him softly, rubbing his hand slowly up and down the smooth skin of Eric’s back.

Eric smiles warmly at him, then yawns and ducks his face under Jack’s chin to hide it.

“You can go back to sleep if you want,” Jack says, continuing his circles on Eric’s back.

Eric hums. “I easily could. But I want to spend as much of today with you as I can. Awake,” Eric adds.

Jack kisses Eric’s temple. “Breakfast then?”

“Shower first?” Eric counters.

“Did you mean…”

Eric takes Jack’s hand and pulls him out of bed. “Yes,” he says against Jack’s lips.

The shower is languorous and mostly chaste. Eric finds small pleasures in seeing what brand of shampoo and soap and toothpaste Jack uses. Jack likes watching Eric amuse himself with it. They dress in comfortable clothes and make breakfast side by side, trading slow morning kisses and casual touches. Jack would spend most of the meal happily watching Eric but he gets drawn easily and eagerly into conversation. Jack discovers that Eric is loath to do the dishes, and Eric convinces him to put everything into his seldom used dishwasher.

He texts Tater to let him know to go by himself to the gym that day, and then he and Eric wind up tangled together on his couch, some feel-good movie on Jack’s TV which they both ignore in favour of kissing and trading questions back and forth.

The movie’s been looping the home screen for a few minutes when Eric pulls himself up from where he’s been stretched on top of Jack, and sits cross legged on the far side of the couch.

“Do you want to talk now?” Eric asks.

“What about?”

“About what’s next for us,” Eric repeats Jack’s words from last night.

Jack breathes in deeply and pushes himself upright. He’d managed to completely forget about that. “We should.”

Eric nods and waits for Jack to start the conversation.

“I want to be upfront, I guess. About what dating me will be like.”

Eric nods again, his gaze focussed on Jack.

Jack knows the conversation isn’t going to be easy for a few different reasons, but he’s lied by omission to Eric before and that almost had disastrous consequences. He’s serious about Eric, about wanting their relationship to work in the long-term. It’s time he takes steps to show that.

# EPILOGUE

_Two Months Later_

 

“Did you pack the shampoo, Jack?”

“There’ll be shampoo there,” Jack calmly tells Eric as he walks past him for the dozenth time this morning.

“What about toothpaste? Soap? Conditioner?”

“Yes, all of that too,” Jack says, grabbing Eric as he swings past again and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

Eric smiles at him for a second before continuing on his frantic flitting in and out of Jack’s bedroom. It should have been easier than this. Eric’s been staying at Jack’s place the past few days and doesn’t have that much stuff here to begin with. Just what was already in a suitcase.

Jack’s own suitcase and carry-on sit waiting by the door. He’d told Eric he should finish packing last night, but Eric had managed to convince him he preferred doing it the morning of. Jack’s fairly certain Eric was lying, and if he wasn’t, he clearly hadn’t remembered the last time he’d packed a bag for a holiday.

Jack stops Eric for another kiss and takes the rolling pin out of his hands while he’s distracted.

“But what if I want to bake your parents a pie?” Eric protests.

“You mean _another_ pie,” Jack teases. “Maman has a rolling pin.”

He lifts the rolling pin up high as Eric goes to grab for it. Eric huffs and sends Jack his most unimpressed look. He holds out his hand for the rolling pin and Jack relents. He gets a filthy kiss for his trouble, followed by a whack on his ass from said rolling pin.

“That’s for getting amusement from all this,” Eric tells him, but does put the rolling pin back.

“You don’t need to bake pies to get my parents to like you. They already do.”

“We’ve only spoken once and—"

“And that was enough.”

Eric finally closes his suitcase after adding his chargers into it and zips it shut.

“I’m nervous,” he admits quietly to Jack.

Jack had picked up on that already, but he likes that Eric’s telling him.

“Me too,” Jack confides, walking over to Eric.

Eric pulls Jack to him by his shirt. “You’re _supposed_ to tell me not to be.”

Jack kisses Eric’s forehead. “I like that you’re nervous. It means you care.”

Eric looks to Jack with fondness in his eyes, before smiling and pulling his head down for a slow kiss. Jack enjoys the familiar feel of Eric’s lips on his own.

“You should know that by now,” Eric says.

“I do. Just like to be reminded of it,” Jack tells Eric sincerely.

Eric fiddles with the collar of Jack’s jacket. “In that case, I’ll remind you that I love you.”

“And I you.”

Eric laughs softly. “Is it okay to be this… lovey-dovey in front of your parents?”

“Lovey-dovey? What do you mean?” Jack teases, peppering Eric’s face with kiss after kiss until Eric is laughing and squirming in his grip. “They’ll be fine. They’re pretty loved up themselves. We can be as gross as we want.”

“You calling our love gross?”

“Nope. Just the level to which I’m going to show it to you.”

Eric rolls his eyes with fondness. “I am looking forward to it already.”

“Great.” Jack kisses Eric’s nose. “Ready? Tater’s waiting for us.”

He swings his backpack onto his shoulder and picks up his and Eric’s suitcases.

“I don’t know what I’m more nervous about,” Eric tells Jack as he gathers the rest of their stuff and locks the door behind them with his newly minted key. “Tater driving us to the airport, or lying to your parents about how we met.”

“Do you know how my parents met?” Jack asks curiously.

“No. Why would I?”

Jack stops on the landing to turn to Eric who stays a step up so their heights almost match.

“We’ll tell them the true story eventually, and I promise, ours is _almost_ as crazy as theirs.”

“Really?” Eric asks hopefully.

“Yeah. Plus I made Tater promise he’d let you choose the music on the way to the airport.”

Eric swoops in suddenly to land a kiss on Jack’s lips. “Honey, you are amazing.”

Jack smiles. “I try.”

Jack stays gazing at Eric, warmth growing inside him.

“What is it?” Eric asks. “Did you leave something behind?”

Jack shakes his head. He’s got everything he needs right in front of him. “No, I just… I’m really looking forward to this. To… everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, you lovely human. Let me know your thoughts and feelings!
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](http://17piesinseptember.tumblr.com/) or in a bookstore near me.


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